The Bear and the Maiden Fair
by the wibbler
Summary: Once upon time there was a young prince of Ylisse... Fairytale AU with multiple pairings Chapter 10 has been corrected
1. Bedtime fables

A/N: I don't own Fire Emblem, only the original content in this fic.

Let that be a disclaimer for all future chapters.

...

**1**

Bedtime fables.

"Right, let's see what you've chosen for us tonight then, young Mark."

Morgan, mellowing comfortably somewhere between thirty and forty (disclosing his actual age, he felt, would diminish the air of mystery) cracked his back before sinking into the armchair beside his son's bed. It'd been a long day buried nose-deep in maps and centuries old Tax laws for Queen Sully, and if he were to be perfectly honest he wanted nothing more than a cup of wine while snoozing in front of the hearth. But alas, young Mark was as unlikely to desist as his dear mother. Morgan had admitted defeat before even beginning the battle. Family traditions had to be upheld, after all, and Mark's bedtime fables had become something of a non-negotiable family tradition.

In the time it took Morgan to settle himself into the plush, padded material and massage his sore eyes with his fingertips; his son had already selected. A 'whump' heralded the arrival of the weighty tome dropped indelicately into Morgan's lap. The man himself pulled his eyes open again to watch his son scramble back beneath his covers and peer at him expectantly. After a moment of inaction, Mark bobbed his red hair (a distinctive throw back from his maternal grandmother) at the book in Morgan's lap as if to say 'well, get on with it then'.

Morgan glanced at the book. The book glanced back up at Morgan.

"This one again?" Morgan sighed, but his smile betrayed that the man was not the least bit irritated by the monotony, "You'll know this word for word soon, Marky-boy."

The ten-year old continued to watch his father with blunt impatience as he fished for his reply. Clearly Mark was firm in what he wanted and (in Morgan's _completely _unbiased opinion) more than a little adorable when such a serious-minded expression was paired with cherub cheeks and a button nose. He wasn't giving way any time soon.

'Just like his mother,' Morgan thought with an affectionate smile, 'no wonder the two keep butting heads.'

"I like it," Mark replied, somewhat defensively.

Morgan chuckled, "_I know you do_."

"Well…."Mark trailed off for a moment before his eyes snapped back up his father's face and his arms crossed stubbornly over his little chest, "So that's that."

"Of course," Morgan smiled and nodded sagely, "_But _wouldn't you rather hear about….."

Morgan leaned back in the armchair slightly, scanning his son's ample bookshelf for another tale to satisfy the boy (he'd read the one Mark had offered for times than he could count, and Morgan could count pretty high). Most of it was crammed with academic books, heirlooms from past generations on the mechanics of history, combat and natural flora and fauna. Mark's own notebooks took a much lower shelf, slightly dog-eared and bloated on hastily scribbled notes from his various tutors. Yes, very serious-minded indeed; though Mark's attention to academic learning _may_ have something more to do with competing against Aldrich (Laurent's intellectually gifted boy) rather than any real interest in the grazing habits of the native Fallow deer.

No, much of Mark's room had been devoted to one area where the ten year old excelled over his peers. Tack, saddle cloths of varying hues and patterns, hand-drawn diagrams of the muscle structure created by Morgan himself (fortunately Morgan's artistic talents were not as disastrous as his mother's) and every single book on creatures of the equine persuasion Mark could dig up, dominated a sizeable chunk of the boy's room. The very same chunk that Morgan's wife and Mark's mother was watching the pair sternly from.

Morgan started slightly, unaware that he'd drifted off into his own thoughts for a few minutes until Kjelle nodded pointedly in Mark's direction.

"Er…" Morgan turned to address his son again with a slightly embarrassed chuckle, "Sorry Marky-boy what were we talking about again?"

Mark sighed in a very grown-up, very put-upon manner; and levelled his gaze with something behind Morgan's head. The something happened to be Kjelle; who wore an expression eerily similar to her son.

'Yes, far too alike,' Morgan mused, feeling simultaneously amused and betrayed by his wife and son's mutual exasperation.

"Your father's right, Mark," Kjelle spoke decisively from behind Morgan's shoulder, "you've heard that story every night for three months now. Choose something else."

"I don't wanna," Mark huffed, "I like_ that_ one."

"You'll wear it out," Kjelle laid the linen shirt she'd been in the process of folding onto the set of drawers so she could place her hands on her hips.

"I won't," Mark countered; undaunted by the combination of hands on hips and commanding tone. It wasn't even aimed at Morgan but even _he_ felt daunted by Kjelle's unamused expression, on his son's behalf.

"Maybe, it'd be alright for one more night," Morgan interjected with a placating smile.

Kjelle's gaze transferred to him, then back to Mark, before softening and she turned away with a sigh, "just don't be upset when the pages fall out from overuse."

"They won't," Mark grinned with triumph, wiggling back into under his comforter.

"And if they do, good old dad'll fix them back in," Morgan smiled.

Kjelle sighed. Mutiny, from her son and husband no less. Normally she wouldn't tolerate such insubordination, _especially_ when her advice was given in any effort to prevent future tears when Mark's book did inevitably break apart. But both Morgan and Mark were unmatched in the art of drawing out her soft side, hidden under all that armour and no-nonsense attitude. It was effortlessly hauled out into the daylight by a particularly gooey-eyed expression from her daft, loveable husband, or dragged careening out in mother-bear fashion whenever her son had a rare wobbly-lip moment.

Kjelle gave them both one more quelling stare (for good measure) before it became a smile and a murmured goodnight.

When Kjelle had left the room, low-beamed ceilings and creaky floorboards signalling her descent down the stairs, Morgan finally turned to the task at hand. Much to Mark's gratification. As Morgan gently opened the book a faint but distinct waft of new parchment and wet ink mixed briefly with the constant scent of hay, horse and leather that fermented his son's room.

"You're sure you want this one?" Morgan checked one last time before beginning.

Mark nodded resolutely, bear fur comforter already wrapped up to his chin in preparation.

"Alright then, Marky-boy," Morgan smiled "Once…."

…..

Once there was a young Prince of the Kingdom of Ylisse. There was a certain requirement of a man in such a position. Though none remembered the exact reasons or circumstances that lead to the custom being instigated; it existed nonetheless and every young Prince of Ylisse from its creation to its current was expected to uphold the peculiar tradition.

The tradition in question being, to rescue five princesses.

Now, rescue was a term that could be construed any number of ways. Prince Andrew had famously rescued his blushing bride from….his mother-in-law. And the infamous Prince Baldric had saved his bride from her terrible personality apparently, although a divorce had followed shortly after the wedding when he'd given his blushing bride _that_ particular speech. When the first independently reigning Queen of that royal line came to power the tradition was promptly altered to include Princes, and then later after the coronation of King Aesop (notorious animal-philanthropist and rumoured occasional naturalist) the tradition was yet again changed to include animals.

Unfortunately for Prince Chrom; when his time came, there was a distinct shortage of blue-blooded animals in need of rescue.

…

"So…"

Morgan glanced up at his son's voice, finding that Mark was squinting upwards with thought as one hand rubbed at his bare chin. Patiently Morgan waited for the question to come. Mark did not disappoint.

"So, does that mean you rescued mom then?" Mark finally asked.

Morgan felt himself blush. It seemed to him incredibly unfair that children were so talented at putting their elders on the spot, when if he were to try to embarrass Mark he'd have to wait until the boy's early teens at least. Morgan's mental catalogue of baby stories were stockpiled for just such an occasion, or any occasion really when someone was willing to listen to the tactician ramble on about Mark.

"Er," Morgan laughed nervously and rubbed at the back of his head, "Not…not exactly."

"You didn't?" Mark frowned.

"Nope," Morgan replied, "Actually your mom came to rescue me."

"She did?" Mark's eyes widened to comical proportions for a second, before he seemed to think it over and nod to himself, "no, that makes sense."

Morgan was about to argue the point when he realised that honestly, it _did_ make sense. It was overwhelming clear to everyone _who_ exactly wore the trousers in his and Kjelle's relationship. Even to their ten-year son apparently. Not that Morgan was complaining, he preferred it this way. He couldn't imagine bossing anyone around (well, apart from when he was at work but most of that was already pre-planned on maps), and he'd never been a stickler for keeping on top of things.

Still, he wasn't helpless.

Though stood smiling widely next to Kjelle in his oversized cloak and ink marks all over his arms, perhaps sometimes he looked it.

"Hey, don't go underestimating your dad," Morgan winked, "I'm not_ that_ old yet."

Mark hummed unconvinced, "I thought you and mom were like…sixty or something; everyone says you've gotta wait until you're older to have kids and you're _my_ dad so you've got to be pretty old."

"Sixty?" Morgan spluttered, "Nope, I'm only thirty-…."

'Air of mystery,' Morgan mentally reminded himself.

"Thirty-something," he finished, "I'm in my prime, so don't go writing off your dear old dad yet."

"I dunno," Mark replied, still sceptical, "that's _three _times how old I am!"

"I thought you wanted to hear this," Morgan faked a wistful sigh and began inching the book closed, "but oh well, if you'd rather-"

"No! No, I want to listen," Mark rushed forward to open it again as he shot his father a placating smile, "I'm listening."

Morgan mentally cheered that the subject had been dropped. He tucked the blanket around his son again before sinking back into his chair. An ink-stained hand ruffled through Mark's crimson hair as the boy tried as hard as he could to convey that his father had his absolute attention, through the medium of a determined frown. A frown that relaxed when Morgan retracted his hand and scanned the open page with his finger.

"Now, where was I? Ah, here we go…"

….

The quest itself he was more than eager for, practically 'raring to go' as Lissa had worded. He wanted to be out, he wanted to be doing something that he was_ good_ at for a change and could actually** do** some good. Instead of loitering around the castle, clumsy and useless among the careful arrangement of fine china and political speech, neither of which he understood. It wasn't for want of trying. He knew about his duty, and he would and did toil to be of use to his ruling sister, Queen Emmeryn, but despite best efforts Chrom always felt out of odds within the castle walls. The term 'trying to fit a square peg in a round hole' often came to mind whenever Chrom found himself being accosted by smiling faced merchants or hunkered down in a hearing with Ylisse's nobility.

No, at least on this quest he could foster relations with the neighbouring countries with the only thing he considered himself truly adept at; his sword. He was, by nature, too direct to understand the little intricacies of politics that his sister had to endure on a daily basis. Combat at least he understood. At least _there_ he could save someone. Chrom wasn't apprehensive about the dragons or bandits they were likely to meet. It was the_ princesses_ they would have to rescue, not the rescuing part of course but the 'princesses' part.

At least his trusted guard was to join him on the journey, and that gave Chrom some confidence. He supposed he'd have to deal with the issue when he came to it. The twenty-two year old Prince had never really been the sort to carefully plan into the future, more a man of impulse and direct action by nature. But his current predicament had forced Chrom to address something he hadn't taken into consideration until that point.

That rescuing princesses, ultimately involved_ interacting_ with princesses.

He hadn't met them, although a list had been drawn up for him. He'd had lessons on how to behave when in the presence of ladies and he had friends among the fairer sex. But he hadn't dealt with _princesses_ before. A bubbling sense of awkwardness rose in his throat whenever he thought too hard about it. There were far more pitfalls, far more ways he could implicate Ylisse and his sister with one unwittingly disastrous misstep. What if they fainted? That was something princesses were apparently prone to do after all. Or he tangled their hair in his armour when he was carrying them out?

He couldn't exactly return to Emmeryn with confidence that he'd aided his sister in some way if there was an unconscious princesses hanging by her hair from his shoulder plate.

"I heard she's very pretty," Lissa chirped at his side, elbows on the stained map stretched across the broad oak table and blonde eyebrows drawn together in an expression of dainty consideration, "but _really_ shy. Not that there's anything _wrong_ with being shy, it can be kinda cute," Lissa snorted in a decidedly unladylike manner (that everyone attending was far too accustomed or endeared to, to bother pulling her up on her manners), "when they're blushing and stuttering and tripping over them themselves...that's what I _hear_ anyway."

"Hey Chrom!" she called up to him, "do you like shy girls?"

Chrom blinked, snapped from his reverie on the mechanics of princesses and hair tangles and shoulder plates, before glancing down at his little sister. Princess Lissa blinked back. The room swam into focus again, the map, the table, the constant draft that circulated the high beams and great, blocky stonework of the Grand Hall. Iron-wrought candelabras and chandelier, a narrow carpet of deep royal blue stretching from the huge oak doors to the wooden dais, and evenly spaced ornamentation of tapestries and shields displaying the Ylisse heraldry were the only decoration. Even here in the Royal Castle, Ylisse had never been a country renowned for its displays of wealth. It was considered (by popular opinion) impractical and unnecessary.

Ylisse was instead a country of good, sturdy masonry and the thick, earthy scent of wet wood. It was a country of huge fireplaces and scraggly, wire-haired hounds resting beside them. A country overrun by deep pine forests, carved up by fast-flowing streams and stony-faced mountains. It rained five days out the seven-day week; and when it wasn't raining the sky was usually moody but attractive nonetheless with its wreaths of overcast clouds. Carpentry, superstitions of trolls passed on from generation to generation, stocky horses and simple homes were all things associated with Ylisse. And admittedly, the tradition of princess/prince/animal rescuing (which was shared with all neighbouring countries, but especially celebrated in Chrom's homeland).

Chrom realised that Lissa was still waiting for his response.

"Huh?" he managed eloquently.

"Jeez," Lissa blew air from her puffed cheeks and fixed her (hopeless) older brother with the stink-eye, "You're no help at all, Chrom."

Ser Stahl chuckled but hastily tried to cover it with a cough when Ser Fredrick's attention swung his way.

"Ah, Princess Lissa was asking your opinion on what type of girl you'd be interested in, Prince Chrom," Stahl threw himself into conversation, mindful of and hoping to avoid his superior's eyes boring into the back of his head.

He chuckled and scratched lazily at the back of his scruffy hair, "not that we_ know_ much about them, except where they come from and rumours and stuff."

Chrom agreed completely. He couldn't exactly pass judgement or form an opinion on anyone just from bits of hearsay. Besides…he knew how much damage gossip could do. Emmeryn had suffered it herself in those first few years after their father's death; when she took the throne and was trying to heal Ylisse back into recognisability. In years she'd proven herself and the vicious gossips had relented when there was no one willing to listen anymore. But Chrom still felt his blood boil whenever he recalled the things they'd whispered about Emmeryn behind her back. People who had no right to judge, had no idea how hard his older sister had worked and how much she sacrificed for her country on a regular basis. He wasn't about to commit the same injustice to these young women. He'd try to hold his impression until he met them in the flesh (slightly nerve-racking prospect or not).

"In every rumour hides a parcel of truth," Frederick's bass voice interjected.

"Wow, Frederick," Lissa glanced up at him in naked shock, "I didn't think you'd be one for rumours."

"I don't condone gossiping in the least," Frederick closed his eyes and leant his chin against his breastplate as he spoke, the perfect image of a respectful knight, "But in these circumstances, I'm willing to make an exception. Any information, no matter how trivial, is still information; and it pays to be cautious."

Chrom smiled, "I wouldn't expect anything else from Ser Frederick the Wary."

Frederick nodded once and murmured a 'my lord'; his straight-laced disposition making it difficult to judge whether or not the Knight had taken offence at the moniker (though it was highly likely that the man viewed it as something of a badge of pride).

"Well," Stahl drawled, "if you haven't got any preferences I guess-" he yawned heavily into his fist before straightening again at a disapproving look from Frederick, "we could just follow a straight run through the kingdoms."

"Oh!" Lissa bounced up with excitement, "that means Plegia first! I've never been in a boat before!"

"I would urge otherwise, my Lord," Frederick spoke, "Boats are a notoriously precarious means of travel."

"Oh, Frederick," Lissa waved him off, enthusiasm unhampered by his warnings, "don't be such a spoil-sport. It sounds exciting! Sploshing through the waves to rescue the princess, battling the elements-"

"And chronic sea-sickness no doubt, never mind being besieged by sea monsters," Frederick frowned.

Lissa merely stuck her tongue at him, inciting another cough-laugh from the wavy-haired junior Knight. Chrom smiled to himself, warmed by the antics of his younger sister and friends. It'd be fine, he reassured himself. He was surrounded by brave, trusted companions and confident in his cause (if not his princess communication skills). He couldn't afford to slip-up when Emmeryn was counting on him and was fiercely determined_ not_ to, especially with Lissa to watch over. He'd been completely against his younger sister coming with them at all, but Emmeryn had expressed a wish for Lissa to see the world outside of Ylisse's borders and that she trusted that Lissa would be more than safe under Chrom's protection. Lissa was always under Chrom's protection, defending his little sister was as natural to the Prince as breathing. He'd just breathe easier if he knew that Lissa was safe behind thick walls and a retinue of armed guards.

Still….arguing with Emmeryn was something beyond Chrom's capabilities and Lissa had looked so _happy_ at the news that she was to accompany them. He couldn't disappoint her now. Another part of him was undeniably comforted by Lissa's familiar, sunny presence.

"Alright Lissa, chronic sea-sickness and besieged by sea monsters it is," he nodded, smiling as his sister whooped with triumph, "it's the first on the map anyway and better to get it done without having to worry about the other princesses if we do get thrown overboard."

Frederick paled visibly at the notion but accepted the Prince's decision nonetheless.

"Okay so we're following the route Miriel drew up earlier," Stahl smiled at the Court Magician who only adjusted her glasses in response.

"I'll begin to make the necessary arrangements," the red-haired woman voiced, "Please excuse me."

Miriel then nodded once before turning on her heel and stalking away, the clipped tapping of her footfalls echoed about the high-ceiling. Stahl sighed as the maps were cleared away, and smiled wider when that left ample room for the pies prepared earlier to take centre stage. Planning a route was important work, but Stahl was not above admitting that he'd had one eye fixed on those pies since the meeting began.

"Alright!" Lissa cheered, "Let's do this!"

"Um-hmm," Stahl nodded pleasantly, hand already sliding the plate of pies towards himself, "Five princesses all waiting for their handsome prince to come rescue them, it's kind of romantic right?"

"Gods, I'd almost forgotten about that part," Chrom's expression was reminiscent of a man suffering a bout of constipation, "the, er," he sighed, "bit about trying to be….romantic.

"Psh, you'll do fine," Lissa waved him off before grinning at Stahl, "I know though, right? Hey, do you think there'll be dragons?"

Stahl shrugged and opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted as Frederick cut in sharply.

"I certainly hope not," he scowled.

"There's _got_ to be dragons," Lissa replied, "There's _always_ dragons. I mean-"

Chrom and Frederick shared a look that had Lissa pausing mid-speech.

"What?" she asked a little hesitantly, "what are you two up to?"

"Lissa we need to discuss your armour while we travel," Chrom began seriously.

"My armour?" Lissa blinked, "I was just going to wear my-"

"Unacceptable," Frederick frowned while Chrom shook his head in mutual dissatisfaction.

"I think there's something at the barracks that might fit her," the Prince mused.

"At…the barracks?" Lissa's head swivelled as both men began pacing and plotting, heedless of her input or opinion on the matter.

"It may suffice, I also have heavy leather jerkins from younger cousins. They should do well to fit the young Lady," Frederick spoke solemnly.

"J-jerkins?" Lissa's eyes widened, "But I'll be fine in my dres-"

"Good," Chrom nodded, "And we'll need something to cover her head. Even a pot would do, if it meant she was protected against arrows…I'll begin getting it together."

"Of course. I'll collect the jerkins, My Lord."

"Hey! Hey, you guys, wait!" Lissa called in pursuit of the men that had already marched off in their quest to ensure she was as heavily protected as possible.

Stahl continued munching pies in the quiet the followed their wake.

…..

"So Princess Lissa couldn't fight then?" Mark questioned.

"Nope, well she could be pretty formidable with kitchen utensils and some of her pranks bordered on evil genius. But no, she was never formally trained," Morgan answered with a small smirk. His mother had told him horror stories of Lissa's pranking habits. To Morgan's knowledge, Robin still checked every salt-shaker at least twice before a meal.

"But mom can fight," Mark frowned, "and she's a Princess."

"Your mother had a very different up-bringing, Marky-boy," Morgan chuckled, "_Very_ different."

Mark nodded, digesting this new information with a contemplative frown. Morgan awaited the verdict, humming to himself and mentally scanning through his schedule tomorrow. He had several documents to go over with Laurent, then there was the border inspection with Gerome and Cynthia, de-briefing Queen Sully on afore-mentioned activities, by the end of which he'd likely be stumbling home with armloads of further assignments; and he still had to work in some time to go riding with Mark. Gods forbid Morgan arrived late for that last one, and was forced to endure Sully's good-natured but heavy-handed ribbing. Queen Sully also happened to be his mother-in-law in addition to reigning monarch; hence marriage to Kjelle had made Morgan officially the prince of Ferox although the title had only earned him more paperwork. If it'd been anyone but the ever optimistic (some considered it childishness) Morgan, the bulk of work would have them scowling.

To him, that bloated schedule only acted as proof that he had secured himself a place in the land and people he loved._ He_ was invaluable, as himself and not just as the only son of Robin.

The thought reminded him of the current protagonist in Mark's favourite tale. How odd, it struck Morgan, was it that he found himself relating more to a young Chrom than his mother in this tale. 'Odd' perhaps wasn't the word, it actually made sense on further reflection, but Morgan had spent so much of his youth (and really his adult life too) trying to emulate his mother that it was a little disorientating to learn that he was really nothing like her at that age.

_He _had felt as King Chrom had felt at that age; if far geekier than the dashing prince. It had tapered out by a great degree in the years he'd secured himself a position in Ferox's Court and met Kjelle; but still Morgan could connect with aching clarity to a younger Chrom's feelings of being inadequate, like a spare piece. The legacy that he could never, by nature or his own preconceptions about his abilities and theirs, quite gap. He loved his family dearly, _fiercely_, to the extent of the same blind faith and blinkered loyalty that a young Chrom could have been accused of. But still he had felt that desperate need to prove himself useful, _needed_ by the very same people he loved; and never a 'extra' that could be overlooked or thrown away when convenience called for it. The only thing those feelings had earned Morgan was a _long _struggle with his self-esteem and a moment of looking rather stupid when he realised that that had never been the case at all.

He hoped Mark never came to know that feeling. It was likely though Kjelle would knock it out of him as she'd done with Morgan. With any luck there'd be no need. Even at ten Mark was far more confident in himself than soft-hearted Morgan had been as a child.

"Mom would have done better," Mark finally gave his verdict, "she would have her own armour already. They'd all be glad she was coming, if it was mom. She's a really good fighter and really brave. If mom was there, there'd be_ no_ messing."

Morgan laughed aloud, "That does sound about right!"

"Prince Chrom and Ser Frederick would probably be too scared to tell _mom_ no," Mark beamed and puffed his chest with pride at his mother, "Mom's too cool to stay at home in a fight anyways."

Morgan wished he had some means of recording his son at that moment. Mark and Kjelle argued when together but sang one another's praises when alone. As blunt as the pair were, he wished that in these things they'd be more honest with one another.

"But," Morgan began, believing that Princess Lissa needed more credit than his son was giving her, "the princess was strong in other ways."

"Yeah?" Mark snorted slightly, "But I bet mom could still beat at arm-wrestling."

"Your mother could probably beat a grizzly bear at arm-wrestling," Morgan hummed.

Surprisingly (or maybe not so) Mark took the comment completely seriously, "Yeah, she probably could."

"What about dragons?" Morgan teased.

"Easy," Mark nodded resolutely.

"Giants?"

"With her eyes closed," Morgan smirked at the challenge.

"What about Grandma Sully?"

At this one Mark paused for a moment before shaking his head to dispel the doubt.

"Course she could," the boy's cheeks puffed at the _very idea_ that anyone or anything could defeat his mother, "Mom could beat anyone."

"Unfortunately your mother wasn't there to save the day in this story, Marky-boy," Robin grinned and ruffled at his son's hair with a sloppy hand.

"Probably be a shorter book if she had been," Mark grunted, carefully smoothing his short, spiky locks back down after his father's affectionate attack.

"There wouldn't have been a book at all," Morgan winked, "Your mother would have told the princesses to rescue themselves. I couldn't imagine Kjelle being impressed with the whole 'damsels in distress' set-up."

"You'd help them though, dad," Mark murmured, "You're nice to everyone."

Morgan blinked, deeply touched that his son thought highly of him. Nearly every child wishes for their parents to be proud of them, and the same was very much true for the parents' desire to point of pride to their children. Even Morgan knew of his reputation for being a bit of a daft softy; but to be reassured that that was something Mark found comfort in squeezed at the tactician's heart.

"But you'd probably need mom to chuck you through the window or something to get up there," Mark mused.

The mental image of Kjelle punting Morgan into the highest room in the tallest power via the combined efforts of_ his _ass and_ her _boot, squashed Morgan's previously mushy mood somewhat. Though, he debated, he could make the flight slightly more graceful by attaching some fabric to his clothing so that he_ glided_ to the window rather than _shot _through it wailing and snot-dribbling with fear. But in those circumstances the princesses was likely to be doing the wailing when she registered the human-flying squirrel leering at her from the window.

"Now!" the tactician declared in a voice designed to drag him and his son back to the matter at hand, "where was I? Hrmm….Ah! Here we go….."

…

It took several more days of planning until Prince Chrom's peers were satisfied enough for the party to get under way. Largely his sister and Ser Frederick were doing the worrying, while the Court Mage Miriel was aloof about her emotional concerns but rather outspoken on the imperfect quality of their preparations. The real planning had been ongoing_ years_ of careful deliberation, and the week following Chrom's announcement to begin his quest was only filled with the loose tying of odds and ends. Still, even that took two more days than Chrom would have preferred and the young man was understandably impatient just to _get going_.

But on the morning of his departure, he felt an odd powerful desire to stay.

Bar Lissa, the group had all had minor excursions outside Ylisse's borders before so this wasn't the first time Chrom had been away from home. But it _was_ the first time he'd ventured out without a set and small time limit to his foray. He was a home-boy at heart. Patriotic almost to the point of over-sentimentality at times, Chrom's heart had been rooted in the walls of grey-skinned castles and mossy forests too deeply to find the same sense of contentment in different views in different lands. He'd miss home. He was eager for the adventure and opportunity to serve his country and older sister, but he'd still miss home.

Cheery whistling interrupted Chrom's sudden pang of nostalgia. The blue-haired Prince glanced up over the back of his horse to find Ser Stahl meandering down the rows of stable doors, a few stray hay stalks caught in his curled hair. The knight's armour clacked against itself as he ducked his head into the window of each stable door; the metal shell seemed somewhat damning in the drowsy setting.

Finally the knight paused at what Chrom assumed was the stable he had been searching for.

"Mornin' Felix!" Stahl grinned at the hairy nose feeling its way out of the stable window.

The horse huffed once in reply. Chrom had heard that dogs began to appear like their owners, but he'd never seen a horse look like its rider. And Ser Stahl and Felix presented a rather stunning example as testament. The bay was neither large nor small (much like Stahl himself) but warm-eyed and unkempt looking despite its probable fine-breeding. Felix mouthed at the Knight's armour, searching for titbits and looking rather sleepy while doing so. Stahl yawned widely in unison.

Chrom grinned to himself as he watched the pair from behind his own steed. The prince enjoyed Ser Stahl's company; although his scatter-brained nature could cause additional issues, there was something about the man's friendly demeanour that put Chrom at ease. He was a little plain but awfully comforting with it, like home-made crumble. You certainly wouldn't peg the man as a member of the Ylissian prince's royal guard, honestly sometimes even Chrom stumped himself when trying to correlate the two.

The 'simple life' would suit Stahl in Chrom's opinion. A small landowning and a cosy little home life, where he could laze away his days and keep his children entertained. Such notions unfortunately also weren't an option for the olive-haired knight. He hadn't enough yet to buy himself land and was too far down the inheritance ladder to receive any. He was handsome of course, not striking like Chrom (though the prince wouldn't describe himself that way) but very pleasant to look at with his open face and unruly mop of hair. As fifth born son to a minor lord (his family crest depicting a mint leaf, and the ironic words of 'idleness is an illness') Stahl would have to make a name for himself before even being _considered_ marriage material by anyone with even an ounce of blue blood. Hence his position in the Royal Guard.

_Stahl_ had never gave any indication of wanting to be settled down or of ever leaving Chrom's services, but there was something in his manner that made Chrom wonder if this really was all the man wanted in life. The knight was happy, that was abundantly clear, and equally as trouble-free. Chrom sighed, perhaps he found it difficult to understand people who were content with just accepting a situation. If Chrom had been Stahl, he'd probably have worked tirelessly to do something rather than just following along with his father's plans to push him into military service. But…then again, maybe a life of just military service and free from the pressures of his noble birth would have suited him.

It was hard to tell when at times Chrom's desire to help others tip-toed towards darker parts of himself that he had difficultly acknowledging.

Feeling muted again, Chrom returned to his earlier task of tacking his horse up. The smell of leather and hay was thick in his nose, musty and earthy and offset somewhat by the more flat stink of horse dung. Stahl was already feeding half an apple to Felix, scratching behind the charger's ears with his right hand while his left fed the other half into the Knight's own mouth. The apple suddenly hit the cobbled floor of the Royal Stables (capitalisation almost audible every time Ser Frederick mentioned them) with a wet slap.

"Crap," Stahl sighed.

The knight glanced about quickly, muttered something about a rule that depended on a certain amount of seconds, plucked the bruised and misshapen apple half up and brushed it on his breastplate before munching merrily away again. Chrom watched the entire process with mildly disturbed fascination; his proper up-bringing warring with the Prince's sense of practicality. Oh, so many years of dropped pastries and fruits had been wasted without the prior knowledge of the five second rule.

"I better brush you up a bit before Ser Frederick sees you in this state," Stahl sighed.

Felix butted against Stahl's own hay-strewn hair in reply.

The man chuckled, "Yeah, I know. I'm not exactly pageant material either but Ser Frederick always says 'cleanliness is next to…' something, definitely something," Stahl shrugged, "meh, it doesn't really matter since it's raining anyway. I guess we'll just have to avoid Frederick's direct line of fire until we're far enough away from a brush."

"My sentiments exactly," Chrom joined, exiting the stall with his horse's lead rein in hand.

Stahl jumped minutely, before turning to beam at Chrom.

"Ah, good morning Prince Chrom!" the knight grinned, "I, er, didn't think anyone else was here."

"Clearly," Chrom replied with a smile, more than a little amused by Stahl's previous conduct.

"Oh!" Stahl glanced at the apple half still in his hand before stuffing the entire thing in his mouth. Getting rid of the evidence, no doubt.

"I don't usually talk to Felix," Stahl struggled through a mouth full of apple, spraying Chrom's own breastplate with a shower of juicy splinters, "Well, not in good company anyway…"

"Don't worry about it," Chrom grinned, "Truly it was quite entertaining, and honestly I'd prefer you keep your silence about my own horse's grooming-"

As one the two men turned to regard Chrom's chestnut mare, stained up the legs by dirt and hay poking smugly from the mane and tail. The creature was a fine beast, powerful and lean, but had a well-deserved reputation for being temperamental. Chrom had broken more bones trying to tame her than he had on all of his years of martial training put together; nevertheless the rewards were well worth the effort. He hadn't been able to come up with a name grand enough without feeling embarrassed about potential pomp, so Red had done quite nicely even if it was rather unimaginative.

Red, however, looked unimpressed with her master's grooming talents; her fine-boned head turned up like a noble's would at a low-class cabbage stew.

"-or lack thereof," Chrom frowned slightly.

"I've got your back, Your Majesty," Stahl winked, "Besides I don't think me and Felix are really in a position to be pointing fingers here."

Chrom and Stahl eyed the two horses and let out a joint sigh of the woe Frederick's finicky nature had caused them. Neither had been aware that a suit of armour could be polished enough to _literally_ blind a man for a fortnight before meeting the Great Knight, and being re-educated on that had caused Stahl and Chrom no small measure of discomfort…and profuse apologises to Royal Gardener.

There was just no arguing with the man, even his Royal ward had learned long ago that Frederick's stubbornness could contest nations, beliefs and all notions of human logic at times. Guilt was a powerful tool against Frederick but one that neither Stahl nor Chrom had ever felt comfortable in utilising.

As if the thought of him had summoned the man, the great oak doors of the Royal Stables were flung open to the brisk outside air and 'shaa' of rain. The cosy world of horses and the stink of hay and old wood were intruded upon by two figures; one tall, one short, one silent, the other shamelessly vocal.

"-you're_ always_ worrying, but this is just ridiculous! I look like a clown! I can't even walk Frederick! How is that safe, huh? What am I meant to_ do_ anyway in this? _Waddle_ away from the enemy? Roll over them like a big, fat human barrel?"

"There's nothing remotely barrel-like about you, my Lady."

"You wouldn't be saying that if I was rolling over_ you!_ You wouldn't be saying much of anything because your grumpy face would have been squashed in the mud by my barrel butt," Lissa huffed, "I get that you and Chrom are trying to keep me safe but _this _is just stupid. Unless you're planning to toss me at bandits, I'm not gonna be much good for _anything_ like this!"

"There will be no tossing," Frederick replied sternly, paused, then added, "or barrel-rolling."

"I'm not made of porcelain, y'know," Lissa growled.

"I am aware," Frederick conceded, "If you were made of porcelain, leaving your room would have no longer been an option."

"Yeah, _right_, you'd probably leave me on shelf somewhere."

"That'd be unreasonable, my Lady. A shelf is far too high."

Meanwhile Chrom and Stahl had been in a flurry of panicked movement since the doors had opened. The two young men had desperately attempted to pick the hay from their horses' hair, wiping dust from their coats and mouthing silently to one another.

The Prince and the Knight tried valiantly not to appear like two naughty boys caught sticky-handed in the pantry as Frederick and the strange figure with him drew closer. Her voice identified the walking assortment of over-sized armour, pillow cases and tied kitchen apparatuses as Lissa, but without it Chrom would have been hard pressed to guess who's (or what's) face rested beneath the iron pot strapped to their head.

And 'waddling' seemed an accurate description of Lissa's movements.

"Good morning Frederick," Chrom's lips were twitching so hard it felt like he'd burst a blood vessel, "Good morning Lissa."

"Good morning my Lord," Frederick replied with his usual sobriety.

Stahl choose that moment to finally lose control, gasping laughter against Felix's neck. Laughter which only grew when Lissa waddled over to hit him. With Frederick's disapproval and Lissa's ire aimed squarely at Stahl, Chrom took a moment to laugh into his hand as to not cause his sister anymore discomfort.

"Ser Stahl," Frederick reproached, "Lady Lissa is already feeling unduly uncomfortable in her current dress, please resist antagonising her."

"Unduly uncomfortable, my ass," Lissa growled, her voice echoing around in her make-shift head gear, "I can't_ see_!"

This did happen to alarm Frederick, "You cannot?"

"No I bloody well can't," what little of Lissa's face the trio could see was bright red with anger.

"That is completely unacceptable," Frederick scowled to himself, "I shall cut eyeholes into the bucket immediately!"

"Frederick," Lissa began in the driest tone Chrom had ever, in all his twenty-two years of life, heard, "You are a monster. And I hate you. Stahl! Stop laughing!"

"Eyeholes!" Stahl was gasping out throughout the brunt of Lissa's attack, "By the Gods, eyeholes!"

"It's not funny!" Lissa yelled then as if finally hooked by the ludicrousness of her own situation began to giggle too, "Okay, okay it's a_ little_ funny. Pftt, I look like walking broom closet!"

"At least…" Stahl struggled through his laughter, "At least we could throw you at the enemy."

"That's what I said!" Lissa snorted and sank into belly laughs.

As the two younger members of the quartet continued, Lissa's schemes and comparisons growing wackier while Stahl's laughter and complete attention did much to encourage the princess's madcap behaviour; Chrom moved to speak to Frederick.

"Has my sister asked for me?" Chrom continued to look on at his sister and Stahl with a fond expression.

"….No, my Lord."

Frederick's reply had Chrom ripping his eyes away from where Lissa was gesturing widely at the three pillows strapped precariously to her rear, and focusing entirely on Frederick's close-faced expression. Anyone who hadn't known Frederick for the amount of time Chrom had would have missed the sympathy in his eyes, the pursed edge to his lips that seemed to convey his condolences where Frederick could not (due to certain expectations of familiar conduct) do so with words.

"She's busy, I take it," Chrom smiled, hoping fervently that his disappointment did not show.

"She is my Lord," Frederick nodded, "She requested that I pass on her wishes for a safe journey onto you, and her love."

Chrom understood that his sister had a country to run. He could never expect Emmeryn to just drop her duties for his sake, and especially for such a trivial thing as wishing them farewell. He _knew_ all this and had not expected Emmeryn to act otherwise, and yet there was still a slight sagging in his chest at the reality that it would not be his sister's gently loving expression seeing them through the gates of Ylisstol. But Chrom could not let that show, he had be the adult on this journey for the sister he had to protect and the Knights awaiting his orders. There wasn't a place for his own petty disappointment, not with these people depending on him and not with the diplomatic opportunity hanging on his shoulders like a lead bar.

Instead he thought of Emmeryn's face when she would greet them back, triumphant and worthy of her freely-given esteem. Now, that would be an expression worth braving a thousand diplomatic responsibilities and fire-breathing dragons (Chrom wasn't entirely sure which of the two were more dangerous).

"Well," Chrom grinned and slapped a companionable hand against Frederick's back, "We'll just have to think about her face when we return successful!"

Frederick smiled in reply, "Of course, my Lord."

"Lissa!" Chrom called across to his sister who straightened from where she'd been whispering to Stahl.

"Yeah?" Lissa blinked.

"Do you need any help getting on your horse?" Chrom grinned, "I can give you a boost-up, if you'd like?"

"No, no, no, no," Lissa made a large X with her arms to emphasise her refusal, "No way mister! I'm still not happy with you, Chrom, you let that madman loose on me with buckets and pillows."

"I assure you, my Lady, I am completely sound of mind," Frederick (attempted) soothed.

"Someone 'sound of mind'," Lissa's lips twitched between a pout and a grin, "does_ not_ strap pillows to a princess's butt."

"She's got you there, Ser," Stahl inputted, spiriting another apple from Gods knew where and munching at the fruit lazily.

Frederick scowled at the younger Knight (who blanched and hastily tried to spirit his apple _back _to Gods knew where) but before the senior Knight could open his mouth, Chrom interrupted.

"Ser Frederick, could you check the tents please? I know they've already been packed but I'd heard that one may have a hole."

"A hole?" Frederick frowned.

"Yes, a very LARGE hole," Chrom was already shuffling the larger man towards the stable doors, "Maybe even a_ bandit-sized_ hole!"

"Gods," Frederick gasped then snapped to attention, "I will see to it at once!"

"You have my thanks, Frederick," Chrom smiled as the other man strode away at alarming speeds.

"Right," Chrom spun on his heel to address his sister, "Let's find you something more suitable before Frederick comes back."

"….And no pots this time?" Lissa asked suspiciously.

"No," Chrom chuckled, "…unless of course, you _want_ a pot."

"No!" Lissa laughed, "Gods, no! I'll be happy if I never see another stinking pot ever again….unless there's something yummy cooking in it."

"I can second that," Chrom replied while trying to figure exactly how the Great Knight had managed to bind the monstrosity together.

"I can third that," Stahl grinned, kneeling down on Lissa's other side to help.

There was much fanfare involved in the departure of Chrom's party. Or as much as the weather allowed anyway. Heedless to or defiant in the face of the strong down-pour, Ylisstol citizens clung to the wooden struts of their porches, leaning their bodies from windows and flowing in a great crowd of bodies to carry Chrom, Lissa, Frederick and Stahl through the city gates. Homes and store fronts with their swinging cast-iron signs crowded on either side, their heads bent together in silent collaboration. The cobbled paths were slick with rain and flecked with the Violet petals. Bursts of the white and blue petals scattered from the hands above, intermixing as the delicate veiny flora fluttered onto the coats of their horses or snagged in their armour until by the end of the gauntlet Chrom and his friends appeared like petal knights themselves.

The bright bursts of colour offset the grey of brewing storm clouds, flecks of bright light against the backdrop of Ylisstol like a vivid favour tucked into the arm guard of a seasoned warrior. Cheers followed in their wake, some high shrieks from the children trailing their horses and some deep whoops from older men and women. It was a mess of rain and hopeful faces and flower petals sweeping away on the stiff winds. Chrom found it difficult enough to see Frederick's back through it all, steering Chrom and Lissa through the sea of well-wishers.

The gates opened before them, great flags of deep blue fluttering wetly both sides and a gust of pine-scented wind rushing in about Chrom's face. A row of knights decked out in silver flanked either side of the pathway until the cobbles and the twisting streets ended, and the dirt trails began. Still the people of Ylisstol poured from the mouth of the city. With the driving rain and cheering citizens and heavy clop of hooves, the noise was a cacophony. Chrom searched the balconies of the great stone castle in the distance, grizzled with age but dignified as it kept watch over the city from its perch on the hill. Emmeryn was not to be found there, or her silhouette in any of the windows.

It didn't matter, Chrom shook his head to himself. He had the well-wishing of his people to carry him onward and to say their calls could not do what a gentle smile from Emmeryn could, would be an insult to them both. The weight on his task felt heavier with the hopes on their faces, but simultaneously Chrom felt stronger for it.

He could do this.

No, he _would_ do this.

"Well," Chrom spoke, twisting in his saddle to address Lissa now they were away from the eyes of Ylisstol, "this is it."

Lissa grinned back at him, plucking a blue petal from where it had tangled in her golden hair.

…..

Morgan paused in his reading and glanced up, sensing that his audience was no longer attentive. He wasn't wrong. Mark breathed softly in sleep, his mouth open and his upper body twisted to hang half out of the sheets in an attempt to be closer to his father.

"And after he put up so much fuss," Morgan whispered affectionately.

Carefully Morgan eased Mark back into bed, being as gentle as humanly possible when he lifted the boy's head from his crossed arms and back onto his blanket. Mark frowned slightly and mumbled something unintelligible, before wrapping himself back up into his blankets and drifting off into sleep again.

The chair creaked as Morgan stood, tip-toeing around his son's room until he found the correct spot on Mark's bookcase. For such a serious boy, Mark had a passionate love for fairy tales. Many thought of the red-haired ten year old as an old soul; but those that knew him (his parents, grandparents, aunt and the few close friends Mark was devoutly protective of) there was a love in the boy for those fantastical ideals. Honour, bravery in the face of insurmountable odds, sacrifice and yes, though Mark would hate to admit it, love. An age old chivalry that needed no reason or motive beyond the sake of goodness.

Morgan prayed that the world would not strip Mark of that. He hoped that Mark's beliefs could be balanced out with a realistic outlook, he hoped that Mark's dreams and ideals were never dashed and most of all he wished hoped Mark well in all things, from now until a distant future when he and Kjelle were no longer around to champion for their son. Mark would dismiss such thoughts had Morgan voiced them aloud (which he did, often, much to Mark's embarrassment). But what parent did not worry for their child? Morgan doubted even death could undo that. _Morgan's _parents still worried themselves about him after all; although he was now thirty…something, married and with his own son.

The book was slid into its place, no doubt ready to be pulled out again tomorrow night. He crept around to his son's bed and tried to make as little noise as possible while moving the chair back against its rightful place by the wall. Then Morgan lingered.

Mark was completely tuckered out.

With results such as these, it was no wonder Kjelle's protests were only half-hearted. Gently Morgan smoothed his son's spiky red hair from his face and placed a kiss against the unlined brow.

"Goodnight Mark," he whispered.

There was, of course, no reply from the boy himself. Morgan sighed, stretched his aching back, extinguished the candle and tip-toed away.

...

A/N:

Okay, some things to clear up so hopefully no one becomes confused. I started writing this while watching Shrek, so it'll probably make more sense with that in mind. This is an AU, so although names of places and certain circumstances (Chrom being a Prince for example) are reflected from the main story of the game, far more of the content is different. I'm also going for a fairytale theme so obviously don't expect it to be TOO realistic (Ylisse letting their two heirs jolly off looking for damsels in distress for example). Characters will have different roles, motivations and in some cases back stories because this is a different universe but I am trying (and fingers crossed, succeeding) to keep them all as in character as possible.

I've not disclosed any pairings yet or of the five princesses except for the Plegian one (which is easy to guess ;) ) and that Sully is the queen of Ferox (the name I used but the land itself and the ruling family is different to cannon) so she was clearly one of them. It'd be really interesting to hear any guesses or suggestions, but I don't want to give anything away so I won't mention the ones I have planned already. You might even change my mind on a few of them.

Hopefully you've enjoyed reading so far, and I hope you continue to do so, feedback would, of course, be appreciated :)


	2. Across Stormy Seas

Across stormy seas.

"Well how late is he gonna_ be_?"

"Too late for bedtime stories. And don't whine, it makes you sound like a mule."

"That doesn't even make any sense," Mark muttered to himself, arms crossed and glaring obstinately in any direction that did not include his mother.

Kjelle sighed, leaning back in the wooden chair to mimic her son's pose (arms crossed and glaring at nothing in particular) but the older woman's was far more contemplative. It was usually Morgan's job to navigate the bedtime stories, along with the cooking. Kjelle saw that their son practiced his lessons and dealt with eternal struggle that was Mark Versus Bath Time (capitalised because a war of that magnitude deserved a certain respect).

Since before Mark could talk, Kjelle and Morgan had slipped into the roles of law-giver and push-over respectively. Mark did what was natural and acted accordingly, going to his father when he wanted a hug and his mother for a telling off. Sometimes Kjelle regretted constantly being cast the 'bad guy' especially as a child Mark's age would not understand that she did what she did out of love. But if she had left the discipline to Morgan, Mark would likely be running around naked with tooth rot from too many sweet dishes by now. Her husband was shameless in spoiling their son, something both knew all too well.

"He was here for dinner," Mark continued, "I don't get why he has to go _back_ out!"

"Grandma Sully asked for him," Kjelle replied, "Would you like to tell her that your father reading your bedtime stories is more important than him attending to Court matters."

And so began the silent staring contest. Mark's arms locked tighter. Kjelle did not budge. He needed to learn, she reminded herself when her son's eye watered and she had to yank back the instinctive compulsion to soothe him. He needed to learn so he was strong enough to protect himself when she was no longer around to do it for him.

"Fine!" Mark breathed explosively, "Fine! You read it."

Kjelle raised a brow.

"Please," Mark glanced at her and muttered.

"Don't sulk," Kjelle chided, "We don't have sulking in this house."

"Then what were_ you_ doing when dad passed out from your cooking last week," Mark mumbled to himself, picking at loose threads in the fabric of his quilts.

"Nor do we have back chat," Kjelle eyed him sternly, "besides I wasn't sulking, I was…."

Mark glanced up, bright red hair and strong little face attentive.

"….mourning the possible loss of your father," Kjelle finished with a dead pan.

Mark snickered into his hands and Kjelle allowed herself a small smile. Much of her son's looks beside his hair (which was eerily reminiscent of Kjelle's own mother's, if slightly shorter) belonged very much to Morgan's side of the family. By the time Mark was five and beginning to grow into his face a bit more, comparisons between her son and his paternal grandfather were already being drawn up. Neither Kjelle nor Mark could care a fig about them. Mark was himself in his own right, not some ode to a man pushing sixty. Morgan, on the other hand, had circled through joy, pride and worry about Mark and his father's resemblance, so fast it almost gave Kjelle whiplash.

Kjelle and Mark had sat down and had a long talk about it, as serious a business as could be realistically expected when one of the participants was a nine year old child. Mark had been too stubborn to be truly swayed by what 'a bunch of strangers' said about him, but admitted some disappointment that people hadn't pointed out the similarities between him and_ Kjelle_ sooner. A statement that stunned Kjelle into silence, and had a blushing, embarrassed Mark furiously retracting it moments afterward. It had consoled Kjelle nonetheless. She knew far too many who had lost themselves in opinions others had of them, only to find that when the spectators no longer cared to label them, they had trouble _finding_ themselves again.

She and Mark had 'left Morgan to it' so to speak, and he had bounced back with that alarming adaptability that made the man Ferox's chief tactician (which unofficially meant cleaning up the red tape after Queen Sully's devil-may-care attitude).

'It's a shame,' Kjelle mused as she watched Mark retrieve the book and place it in her waiting hands, 'that the man could not be here now.'

It was highly likely that Morgan was deeply regretting time missed with his son. He was always so busy, as was Kjelle, but her duties tended to involve her family while her husband was locked away with books or dour-faced treasurers. Here, as blood heir to Ferox, Kjelle would at least always be in the vicinity of her son. More often than not, Mark would have to shadow her so he too could take up his duties one day. If he was not, then he was attending to his studies with one of his many tutors. But Morgan…well, Kjelle could not stop the sudden spring of guilt that by reading Mark to sleep she was in fact encroaching on those precious hours Morgan could devote wholly to his son.

"Mooom," Mark tapped her knee impatiently, "You're spacing out."

Kjelle glanced up from where she'd been frowning in thought at her lap, to find Mark staring at her with a small crease between his eyebrows.

Kjelle nodded partly to herself and partly to her son. No, she was not stealing from her husband and she had been stupid to ever think so. They were a family, not something to be slotted and carved up like a watch rotation.

"Get comfy," Kjelle ordered as she thumbed through the book in search of Morgan's bookmark, "I'll begin in a moment."

"_Finally_," Mark sighed.

Kjelle shot him a reprimanding look and the boy had the grace to smile sheepishly at his mother.

"Why are you so against me reading to you, anyway?" Kjelle's eyes never left the paper as she spoke, still in pursuit of Morgan's deceptively illusive bookmark.

Why didn't he use something bigger than a piece of string? It was liable to break and hardly 'marked' the page. It was also likely all he had on him at that present moment. Kjelle would have to keep her eye out for something more appropriate tomorrow.

"I just like dad doing it," Mark replied, "He's better at it, he does the voices and stuff too."

Kjelle breathed a tiny sigh of triumph as she finally found the deep blue string wedged into the spine between two pages.

"I could do the voices too, if you'd like?" Kjelle offered.

She wetted her fingers expertly before pinching the corner of the next page. There, she nodded with satisfaction, Mark was tucked in bed and she was prepared to begin.

"Gods, no!" Mark yelled.

Kjelle looked up sharply.

"You'd look silly," Mark defended, "Well, you would! Mom, you can't look silly. That's what dad's for!"

"You have a point," Kjelle smiled, "although you should know, Mark, your father is one of the most intelligent men I've met."

Her son's look was highly sceptical.

"Unfortunately, he's daft as a brush with it," Kjelle sighed.

Mark chuckled.

"Now," Kjelle spoke in her back to business tone, "You'll have to make do with me tonight, Mark, because whether you like it or not, your father is away."

"Fine," Mark sighed as if resigning himself to a horrible fate.

Kjelle sat back, watching him, waiting.

"Just…" Mark began as Kjelle had fully predicted him to, "Just promise you won't do the voices, okay? That's_ dad's _thing. It'd be weird if you did it."

"You have my word," Kjelle nodded and smiled gently at his son, "Now, I'll begin…"

….

Up to the north of Ylisse, down the cliffs and across a body of water lay the land of Plegia. Plegia was a land rarely ventured to by outsiders. The artic winds, restless oceans and the cold beauty of its landscape was very rarely accommodating to strangers. The people themselves tended to be suspicious and hard faced but unquestionably loyal, and that if anything was one trait that they held in common with their southern neighbours.

Of course, to reach Plegia you would have to navigate your way through perilous waters to the little smattering of islands that counted jointly as 'the land'. It wasn't an undertaking to be considered lightly, especially by the inexperienced. That warning seemed to do very little sway the Ylissian prince regardless.

Chrom and his party had ridden for two days, making a beeline for the steep cliffs that ringed the northern head of their kingdom. The murk and sickly-sweet smell of the forests had eventually begun to peter out until finally only those few trees lingered at the fringes, stocky roots upturned like naked stomachs. The ground was too hard here for the thick growth that Ylissian countryside was accustomed to. Chrom, who also happened to be accustomed to springy forest floors and ferns, tottered slightly as he dismounted.

"This is the last Inn?" he called over the winds to Frederick.

"It is, my Lord!" Frederick bellowed back.

Lissa dismounted too, and was almost promptly blown away by another harsh gust of salty wind.

"Easy there, my Lady," Stahl reached out to grasp her arm, sheltering her behind where he was using Felix as a buffet.

"Thanks!" Lissa yelled, flashing the Knight a grateful smile, "Hey Chrom! Do you think we could, y'know, go inside before we're all blown off the cliff!"

"Alright, stay behind me!" Chrom replied, expression deadly serious. He remained ignorant to Stahl's indulgent smile and Lissa's eye roll.

The door was almost ripped from him as Chrom entered the Inn. It then took both hands to keep the damned thing open while Stahl and Lissa hurried inside. Frederick (who seemed just as solid and therefore miraculously impervious to the gale force winds) strode round the back of the Inn to stable their horses.

Lissa, Chrom and Stahl were too preoccupied trying to breathe some warmth back into their fingers (or stamp some into their feet, in Lissa's case) to take note of their surroundings. On the other hand, their surroundings had no such issue and were intently taking note of_ them_. Stuffed and mounted fish nailed to thin walls or low-hanging beams watched the trio with glassy eyes. Clusters of fisher and ferry men, haggard and reeking of brine, turned wary squints on the group's fine attire. A tabby with matted fur surveyed them leisurely, decided they were nothing of interest and went back to running its tongue over its flank.

The issuing silence was not hostile, but it certainly was not the friendliest atmosphere either.

Chrom squared his shoulders, lifted his head and smiled, "Good Afternoon."

No one answered. Chrom's smile wavered a bit.

"Er, Chrom," Lissa whispered, unconsciously tugging at his cape like she used when she was small, "M-maybe we should get a drink?"

"Yeah…we should probably do that," Stahl breathed, transfixed and visibly perturbed by the fishing hook that was sticking out a patron's lower lip.

As one the trio shuffled forward, Lissa clinging slightly to Chrom and Stahl clinging slightly to Lissa. They'd only made five steps through the haze of cigarette smoke and anarchic table layout, when the door once again burst open. Stahl jumped, a shout of alarm caught in his throat as another blast of freezing air swept through the Inn.

"My Lord, the horses are stabled."

The patrons looked at the towering shape of Frederick, Frederick looked sternly back at them. At once all noise in the Inn suddenly started up again, even if the lull of conversation sounded faintly strained.

"Phew," Stahl smiled with relief, "Thank the Gods, it's only you Frederick."

"I wouldn't be thanking them just yet were I you, Sir Stahl," Frederick stared at the younger man with intense disapproval, "I did not miss you cowering behind the young princess."

"Eh? Heh ha….ha?" Stahl smiled sheepishly in reply.

Frederick's eyes narrowed and Stahl audibly gulped.

"Oh _chill out_, Frederick," Lissa intervened with a cheery grin and slapped Frederick lightly on his breastplate, "Stahl was only watching our backs, right?"

"Er….right?" Stahl glanced at her, Lissa nodded encouragingly and the Knight repeated with more confidence, "Right!"

"We shall see," was Frederick's ominous reply.

Lissa and Stahl glanced at one another. What exactly did that _mean_?

"So this what the Inns on our coast look like," Chrom peered about himself curiously.

The prince deposited four tankards on a nearby table where the quartet seated themselves, the men on the surrounding tables shuffling anxiously away. Frederick's scrutiny was nowhere near as inquisitive, nor as kind. The table was worryingly sticky, the room stuffy with smoke, alcohol and noise, and the Great Knight did not know where to begin on the questionable decor of dead fish. Oh, the things he did for his duty.

"'The Mermaid's Purse'," he read from the bronze plaque (in need of much polishing) hanging above the scarcely stocked bar, "a…ambitious name for the establishment."

It was cramped with good reason. Although structurally sound, the building had been squeezed through multiple renovations as years passed and the demand for free rooms grew. What had once held five good sized rooms upstairs and a spacious bar downstairs, now had an additional _fifteen_ rooms crammed into its interior. Fortunately it meant that there would be rooms to house them when Chrom inquired, unfortunately it meant said rooms were rather...claustrophobic. There was no real historical excuse for the unsanitary conditions beside an over-worked barmaid and her son being a half-assed cleaner.

"I don't know," Chrom continued to peer about himself, "It's interesting to see the world outside Ylisstol walls. Besides it's not exactly-Gods! That cockroach is bigger than the palace cat!"

"Ooo, where?" Lissa chirped leaning forward to spot the monstrous insect.

Her eyes aligned on the offending creature and, with great speed and victorious whoop, she plucked it up from where it had been trying to infiltrate Chrom's tankard.

"Hahaha!" Lissa laughed, "Look Chrom, it's bigger than my hand! Ew, you can see all its buggy little eyes."

"So…so you can," Chrom allowed, hastily trying to smooth himself back down into the image of a respectful, brave leader.

"Is it meant to have twenty-five eyes?" Lissa frowned then glanced at Stahl and her brother, "I don't think other cockroaches _usually_ have that many."

"I… I think it's best not to ask," Stahl replied.

"Oh well," Lissa sighed, releasing the insect who scuttled back under the bar, "Go free, little fella!"

"As I was saying," Chrom coughed, "I think it's important, as a-Gods, there's another one!"

"I shall vanquish it immediately my Lord!"

"Catch it Frederick! Get 'im!"

"And another! I think_ that_ cockroach is_ riding_ another cockroach! Where in the hells are they all coming from?"

"Best not to ask," Stahl mumbled into his tankard as the other three set about furiously squashing the sudden infestation.

It took another ten minutes before the insect invasion could be considered sufficiently quelled, much to Lissa's chagrin and Frederick's joy. Suffice to say, by the end of it Chrom and his party had lost _any _impression of being an expert adventuring group. This far from the capital, the other patrons did not recognise their young prince and princess by sight alone. What they did know, however, was that all four were easily distracted by mutant cockroaches.

On the upside; what they had lost in face, they had also lost in tension. How threatening could the strangers be after such a performance? Most of the other drinkers wouldn't outright talk to them (still intimidated somewhat by the rich quality of their clothing, and the lack of dents to their armour) but a braver group of sea-farers had eventually succumbed to curiosity and pulled up a chair.

Chrom was pleased with that development. The native people had far more information to offer, and besides he was rather more acclimatised to a warm reception. He felt more comfortable knowing Lissa would have to sleep here, when the other lodgers were laughing at her antics rather than glancing nervously at them from the corners of their eyes.

"So where's it to you exactly going then?" one of the sailors questioned around his cup.

"Huh?" Chrom frowned.

"He said 'where are we going'," Stahl translated in a hushed voice.

"Oh!" Chrom smiled, "An island marked on the map here," he pointed at said island, "the passing will be difficult, no doubt, but it's important that we make the journey."

The sailors squinted at the island then at one another then laughed. Loudly.

"Oh, aye! I can guarantee you'd be finding the trouble with that one!"

"Why?" Chrom frowned, "I can't see what's so funny about it."

The response had come out sharper than the prince had intended, and in honesty it wasn't directed at the group of young men. Even _if_ them snickering between one another like young maids was beginning to grate on Chrom's nerves. He was annoyed partly at himself, for appearing the ignorant tourist despite the months and months of planning. And partly at what felt like a previously unanticipated roadblock thrown in their path.

"Look, mate," one leaned closer across the table, "All Yevin's saying is that you'd be lucky to find anyone who's willing to take you over there."

"What? Why?" Lissa thrust forward too, baby blue eyes bright with interest and her curled pigtails swinging either side of her face.

The young man took a longer look at the princess's face than either of her Knights apparently felt was appropriate. Stahl coughed pointedly, Frederick seemed to loom three sizes larger and _both_ glared until the boy nervously rallied himself and turned in Chrom's direction (and clearly a safer one) to answer.

"There's nothing on it worth _anything_, just a ruined castle and that ain't worth half the troubles you'd have to go through to get at it."

"What trouble?" Chrom frowned.

"Dragons," Yevin piped up, "At least one, and nasty withs it too. Ain't that right, Berick?"

"Aye,_ and_ they say it's cursed," The first man (now identified as Berick) nodded sagely, "they say strange noises be coming out the tower all the time."

As if triggered by a mental link Yevin, Berick and their silent companion crossed themselves and offered a blessing to Naga in perfect synchrony.

Chrom bit back the urge to curse. Dragons he had confidence that he, Stahl and Frederick could deal with, or at least distract until the princess was safely recovered. He'd rather slay it, if it meant it wouldn't be terrorising any of the poor souls who braved too close to its waters. However, the way things were looking, Chrom would not have the opportunity to even approach it never mind face the beast in combat.

He hadn't factored superstitions of the sailors into his plan. He'd expected that finding passage would just come naturally. They'd get a boat, and that was all Chrom had thought _needed_ to be expressed on the subject. But he'd obviously been mistaken. Chrom was so used to transport just being provided, just being _there _when asked, that the possibility of anything to the contrary hadn't even entered his head. Despite how much it galled him, that the quest had barely begun and already he was stumbling, it did offer Chrom some measure of future experience. Not that that seemed as important to him at that moment, not when he was preoccupied with fuming at his naivety.

"I see," Chrom massaged his head, "Well, you have my thanks for the warning."

"Don't worry 'bout it," Yevin grinned toothily.

"Better that we's told you now than have you all jollying out on your own," Berick added, "couldn't live with the guilt, if you all went offs and we hadn't at least warned you."

"Aye, guessing what's the icing pie don't ever have the fishing's on a stream," was approximately what the quartet could decipher of what the third sailor said.

"I…er," Chrom's mouth opened slightly and his brows furrowed with confusion, "You have my thanks. I _think_."

"Was that even words?" Lissa whispered to Stahl.

Stahl shrugged, looking just as confused and helpless as the royal siblings. A collective sigh seemed to pass through the table when the sailors returned to their own drinking, the previous jovial mood and buoyancy that the beginning of their task had brought them soured by their turn in luck. Chrom was furiously scanning the map as if some answer was merely hiding between the lines in the ink. Lissa was noticeably deflated, doubt gnawing at her prior optimism as the magnitude of the task before them set in. She wondered whether or not she was burden, prodding at the thought like a rotten tooth, if she'd been a silly little child in requesting to help. Frederick was stone-faced and silent, while Stahl ever receptive to the emotions of those around him tried to add some lightness by offering to fetch more drinks.

…

"What?" Kjelle glanced up when she felt Mark's eyes burrowing into her face.

The ten year old appeared completely unapologetic about his scrutiny of his mother. In fact, Kjelle believed it was likely that he'd been _waiting _for her to say something. She'd already made it clear that Mark was not to interrupt, this way it was Kjelle doing the interrupting and her son could question without repercussion.

"Do you ever get like that when you're on a mission or something, mom?" Mark frowned.

"Like what, Mark?"

"Like all….I dunno, just like giving up," Mark gestured flatly at the book as if it would provide all the clarification he needed.

Kjelle frowned to herself for a moment. Not only mediating on how to answer her son's question, but also taking the reprieve to shift in her seat. The chair was far too padded. It'd been in Mark's room since before he could walk, and had doubtlessly been over-stuffed in an effort to stop the boy from hurting himself. Still….the way Kjelle found herself _sinking_ into the fabric was somewhat alarming.

"Yes," she finally answered, "Yes, I have and probably everyone else has too. I wouldn't be human otherwise."

"Huh," Mark mulled over that before asking, "So, how do you get over it then?"

Kjelle sighed, "In life there will, without fail, come times where the situation is out of your control. In those times the only thing you can do is to have faith in your strength and the abilities of the people you trust."

"What if you trust the wrong people?"

"Then you trust the wrong people," Kjelle shrugged, "It's not always easy to tell who is honest and who isn't. I've been lucky that most of those I hold dear have been faithful, for some that isn't the case."

"Alright," Mark replied in a sombre tone.

Kjelle waited (a little impatiently) for the follow-up. It was not forthcoming, and as much as Kjelle wanted to grill her son on what those questions could possibly mean and whether or not he was worried or in some kind of trouble; she couldn't. She had to respect a measure of Mark's privacy. He depended on her and Morgan for so many things, that Kjelle could not in good conscience manage her son's thoughts too.

'He would tell me', she bolstered herself, 'Mark would tell me if something truly was worrying him.'

Kjelle wet her lips, glanced once more at her son then continued from where she'd last read.

….

Hours Chrom spent exhausting every conceivable route they could take to the island and throughout, his frustration with himself and the situation continued mounting. By then it was dark, brief flurries of snowfall blurring past the murky little windows of The Mermaid's Purse and the temperature dropping rapidly.

Many of the other patrons had retired to the warmth of their (admittedly cramped) beds. Only a few, besides Chrom's table remained, huddled around the flickering candlelight and speaking in low mummers over the wind howling through the thin walls of the establishment. Lissa dozed on and off against Stahl's shoulder, who had been more committed to his decision and was snoring softly against the wooden table. Frederick looked like he hadn't moved an inch in those two hours. It wasn't infeasible that the Great Knight really hadn't.

"Even if they drop us off on nearby island, they'd still be miles of freezing water to cross," Chrom muttered to himself, "The probability of actually managing to do so would be too low. No I can't allow that, not with Lissa at risk."

"There's also the dragon to deal with, my Lord," Frederick's bass tones added.

"Gods," Chrom flopped into his seat with a tried, grimly amused smile, "don't remind me Frederick."

The prince rubbed a hand over his tired face.

"Perhaps…." Frederick edged, "Perhaps it would be best if you and Lady Lissa returned to Ylisstol."

Chrom blinked. All prior exhaustion evaporating in the face of Frederick's suggestion.

"Just go back?" Chrom gaped, "Before we've _done_ anything?"

"Prepared as we are, none of our party has ever faced a dragon before. You and Lady Lissa are not people that can replaced, an opinion held by myself and by Ylisse. If the quest is dangerous-"Frederick began.

"I've trained for this," Chrom interrupted, "I understand there will be dangers involved. These trials have been faced by generations before me, _including _my father and Emmeryn when they were both younger than I am now. Even if my sister had not asked me to undertake them, I would have requested to go anyway. The people of Ylisse are relying on us to finish this, the political ties and prestige it will bring our country are too great to just throw away. It is my duty to see that the faith of our people is not misplaced."

"Hrmm, the young man be saying many noble things."

Frederick and Chrom jumped at the new address, their surprise jostling both Lissa and Stahl into complete consciousness. The man was huge, his great shape made that much more imposing by the weak candlelight and low ceiling. Yet he'd managed to sneak up on their table without as much as a whisper of forewarning. His hair was cut short and choppy about a square, rugged face; jaw like an anvil and broad features. His huge arms were crossed over his massive chest, muscles at ease but ready nonetheless underneath the ragtag set of armour he donned. Chrom had never seen a man rival Frederick in size and raw physical power, especially one who appeared so different. Orange hair cut at odd angles compared to the well-kept slightly curled style Frederick wore, stance relaxed and grin somewhat smug compared to Frederick's staunch and humble demeanour, and the meticulous suit of arms that Frederick cared for regularly compared to the man's blatant attitude of 'as long as it does the job, it will do'.

"Who are you?" Frederick demanded, eyeing the stranger with wary disdain, "state your business!"

"Oy, oy, oy," the man's shoulders shook with laughter, "Gregor not here for fighting. Gregor only came to give young man offer."

"Peace Frederick, we should hear him out at least," Chrom glanced at his loyal knight before re-directing his attention back to the stranger, "its Gregor then, I take it?"

"Oh, young man is sharp with the smarts!" Gregor's heavily accented voice rose as the wide grin grew, "Gregor best captain here, ship cut through ocean like sword. Others may be scared little girls but Gregor willing to get young man and his friends to island, yes?"

Chrom blinked, not quite believing that a solution had so easily fallen into his lap.

"You're saying you can get us to the island?" he breathed.

The man nodded, "that is what Gregor is saying."

"Really?" Lissa grinned eagerly, "That's brilliant!"

"Wait, my Lady," Frederick pushed in amidst the rush of enthusiasm, "We do not know this man, but I _do_ know that it is wise to be mistrustful of offers that sound too good to be true."

"I'm with Sir Frederick on this," Stahl frowned mildly, "We've been wracking our brains for a way to get to the island and then this guy just turns up with the answer. Seems pretty fishy, if you ask me."

"Fishy?" Gregor seemed taken aback, "Gregor not fishy! What so surprising about Gregor's offer? Sat there," here he jerked his head in the direction from whence he came, "watching young man get wound up, more angry young man gets, happier he is with Gregor's offer and more coin he willing to pay. Is sailor's Inn after all and Gregor is sailor. Thinking it fishier if Gregor appear with boat out of sky, yes?"

"He's, er, got a point," Stahl scratched at his head, "We_ are_ the only people here who aren't sailors."

"Messy man got right of situation," Gregor flashed the Knight a grin.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Lissa waved her hands, "You came from over there?"

Her expression was incredulous as she raised a brow and pointed at a sack of potatoes propped up against a nearby wall. Gregor twisted his body, arms still crossed, to give the pathetic looking sack an once-over.

"Yes."

"On a sack of potatoes?" Lissa's other brow lifted to join the first.

"Yes, why little girl so disbelieving of Gregor?" Gregor replied, oblivious (intentionally or otherwise) to Lissa's frown at the term 'little girl', "Potatoes healthy for body and Gregor hear table better from there. Besides Gregor need to be making sure that group not few slices short of loaf, yes? You're all on quest and still wanting boat…_well_ Gregor willing to take young man, little girl and messy Knight."

"Chrom, do you really think we should get on a boat with a guy who's been stalking us from a bag of potatoes all night?" Lissa frowned.

"What choice do we have, Lissa? No one else is willing to even go near those islands," Chrom replied, "besides…to me, he doesn't seem the type to try anything."

"_He doesn't_?" Stahl glanced at Chrom.

"No," Chrom smiled encouragingly back at the younger man, "We'll just to have a little faith. Besides if he were a miscreant, wouldn't he have just tried to steal our gold rather than offering his services?"

"_Okay_, if you say so," Lissa conceded, if in a sceptical tone.

"A second, my Lord," Frederick intercepted just as Chrom turned to address Gregor once again.

The Great Knight squared up to the foreigner, pulling himself to his full height until both of the imposing men stood eye to eye.

"Knight with bow tie not be trusting Gregor," the man said with a blandness that suggested apathy on the subject but a small frown that hinted Frederick's mistrust had been taken to some personal degree.

"No, I do not," Frederick replied directly, "You mentioned that you were waiting for my Lord's impatience to rise so that he was more amendable to your price. What is it you are expecting from us in return for safe passage?"

Gregor frowned, mulled it over then smiled in comprehension, "Oh, you mean what Gregor's price?"

"Yes."

"Oy, bow tie Knight ask easy question," Gregor laughed deeply then shrugged his massive shoulders, "Gregor want what most do, coin."

"Well, that's easily arranged," Chrom grinned with elation that the issue was solved and relief that the cost of its conclusion was not too steep.

"But Gregor be wanting a lot of coin for such dangerous work," the man rubbed at his jaw and lifted his eyes to ceiling, "Is Gregor's life on line, after all."

They managed to hash out a price that Frederick did not seem too approving of, but Chrom believed was quite reasonable considering the dangers involved.

"Agreed," Chrom shook the hand offered readily, "Now, when do we set out?"

"Young man impatient to get going!" Gregor grinned, "Rest first then group want to rise with sun tomorrow, early start and Gregor eager to get underway!"

"As are we, my friend!" Chrom couldn't help grinning back, the man's smile was infectious.

"Come!" Gregor patted the young man's back, "You drink to celebrate deal with Gregor, and then you all bunk in Gregor's room! Saves money, yes?"

"B-but-"Chrom began fighting the powerful tide of Gregor's zeal to glance at Lissa with concern.

Lissa, however, didn't seem in the least bit worried, "Alright! Let's get this sucker going!"

Gregor's roar of laughter shook the room, "Hahaha! Gregor like little pig-tailed girl's spirit!"

Chrom stopped struggling, this victory no matter how small had uplifted the mood once again. He'd allow Lissa a moment to bask in it….even if he was going to make damn sure she slept in full armour that night.

Which she did, after much arguing. Stahl did remarkably well with his drink, but Chrom was flushed after only a couple of glasses. Gregor snored so loudly and so deeply that Frederick swore he could feel the roof timbers vibrating. The Great Knight himself had spent the entire night scowling in the captain's direction, acting as a breathing, frowning buffer between Gregor and the sleeping princess.

No, Frederick was not pleased with the situation at all.

He was a sensible being and, yes, some did consider him overly cautious but he had learned through experience that it was better to be safe than sorry. He'd much rather that the young Prince had decided to hammer out a longer route, than succumb to impatience and the opportunity the stranger's offer had provided. A stranger. Yes, Frederick decided that that was a completely appropriate term for the man. A man who had given them no reason to place their faith and their lives (Frederick winced internally every time he thought on _that_) in his frankly dubious hands.

Frederick was not so blinkered to believe that a man was incapable of honour without the backing of a noble house. _He_ had no claim to the nobility and yet strove to serve with integrity to the very best of his capabilities. Sir Stahl had his faults, but the young man was a good knight and _his_ family was only grasping onto the very fringes of Ylissian aristocracy.

Simply Frederick did not trust Gregor. Not until he proved himself worthy of that trust at any rate.

"Bow tie Knight is still glaring at Gregor, yes?" the man himself muttered.

The weather was no better than it had been the day previous, but Chrom's party (and Gregor) were out in it nonetheless. It had taken no small amount of effort to navigate their way down the sheer, ragged cliff face; buffeted by wind and vicious sprays of freezing water from the sea below. The crisp air had kept Frederick's senses sharp as he kept watchful eyes on Chrom and Lissa throughout the descent. Neither had stumbled, much to Frederick's relief, but it paid to be vigilant nonetheless. Gregor had laughed at the Knight's unease. Frederick found very little humorous about the situation.

Especially when Gregor had flaunted his vessel with (misplaced) pride. It was small, as to be expected from a ship that was manned by one man, and appeared to be on the verge of collapse. The wood splintered and scrapped, the intricate detail on the Plegian dragon head at the fore of the boat weathered with age and sails once coloured in blocky strips of red and white had faded to a dull orange and off beige. It did not look reliable. It did not look reliable enough to get them across a duck pond, never mind infamously volatile Plegian waters.

Hence the cause of Frederick's deep scowl.

"Yes," he replied, "I am still glaring. How do you propose we reach the island on _this_ boat?"

"Oy, oy, oy!" Gregor yelled, "Bow tie Knight should not be insulting Gregor's ship, is old but strong like mountain!"

"I don't care if it's a tin bath," Stahl murmured, voice almost swallowed completely by the wind, "as long as it's warmer than here."

"_Anywhere_ would be warmer than here!" Lissa exclaimed, "Can we just go aboard,_ please_?"

"I'm not convinced of the safety of-"Frederick began but the other three were already boarding, rushing up the gangplank heedless to his warnings.

He cast one more frown at Gregor before following, conveying to the man through the sheer force of his glare alone what horrors he could hope to face should any danger befall any of his charges. Frederick did not like this. He did not like this in the least. But he would have to have place his confidence in Chrom's decision.

He would never, could not even possibly imagine, just leaving the young prince and princess to their fate. So he would follow their lead. And prepare himself to pick up the pieces if Chrom's instinctive trust in others failed him.

….

"What is it, Mark?" Kjelle sighed when she felt her son's eyes on her once again.

Mark, satisfied that he'd successfully captured his mother's attention, asked, "What's it like being on a boat?"

Kjelle instantly grimaced. Unlike her son, she had no natural talent (or inclination she glumly thought) for horse-riding. She didn't like the feeling, the rocking motion and tenuous control the reins offered. Sea travel was far,_ far_ worse. There she was completely at the mercy of the elements. If there was to be a storm, there would be a storm and a person's strength or willpower had no bearing on whether or not they would survive. Kjelle had been on a boat twice in her life. The first to visit her mother-in-law's homeland, and the second time was the journey back. After that disastrous incursion Morgan's parents had made it a point to travel to _them._

"Unpleasant," Kjelle scowled.

Mark nodded very seriously, "It doesn't _sound _safe."

"No, it doesn't," Kjelle's expression twisted into one of mild nausea, "But that's beside the point, I thought you wanted to hear this."

"I _do_," Mark replied defensively.

"Then be quiet and listen," Kjelle cleared her throat before returning to her reading.

…

No manner of protest could sway Frederick into allowing Chrom and Lissa above deck. It was as close to an act of insubordination that Frederick felt comfortable daring to edge. In this he could not be moved, no matter how much Lissa huffed or Chrom laughed off his concerns. The Great Knight didn't even want his companions_ on_ this boat, but he could find some mild reassurance in a promise that they would be kept from the worst of the foul weather.

Chrom seemed to sense that.

"Alright," the prince sighed, "Me and Lissa will stay below deck. There is space below deck, right Gregor?"

"If enough space for Gregor, then enough space for young man and little girl," the huge man shrugged, nonplussed by the fuss Frederick's mothering had incited.

"Thank you, my Lord," Frederick said feelingly, "Sir Stahl, I would appreciate you remaining with Lady Lissa."

Stahl glanced from Lissa (arms crossed and clearly locking her jaw against the temptation to argue the arrangement further) then to Frederick. There was a form of silent communication as the younger man's eyes locked with his senior's for a moment. Of course, there was an expectation to protect the prince and princess but this particular request was not for their safety but Stahl's own.

"Are you sure?" Stahl lifted a hand to push his hair back from where it had blown into his eyes, "I could help you out up here?"

"No," Frederick replied firmly, "You would be of more use below deck."

"If you say so, Sir. You don't need to tell me twice," Stahl's smiled seemed to say 'well, what can you do'.

Satisfied, Frederick drew himself to his full height and held his hands behind his back watching as the other three clambered down into the hold. Chrom smiled and patted him on the back as he passed. It was only when they were out of sight that Frederick felt a modicum of ease. He could rely on Stahl to keep an eye on their wards. Meanwhile-Frederick spun to address the only other figure on the deck-_he _could keep an eye on _Gregor_.

The other man was watching Frederick with mild amusement.

"Bow tie Knight be worrying too much," he called over the wind, "Gregor no problem, get you and young man there safely, yes?"

"I certainly hope so," Frederick replied stiffly, "Now how may I be of assistance?"

"Oy," Gregor rubbed his jaw and hummed with thought, "just do what Gregor says….oh! And keep eyes on the water!"

With that Gregor swaggered along the limited space of the deck as if he knew every inch, every plank and every nail with complete certainty. The man was imposing on land but standing at the wheel with the dramatic backdrop of stormy sea and moody, grey skies, Gregor appeared unstoppable. Frederick allowed that the man_ did_ seem to possess the capability to get them to the island-

The captain threw his head back and laughed, before announcing to no one in particular "Hahaha! Gregor is on job!"

-but he also happened to be completely insane.

The little ship _pulled_ away from the cliffs, lurching forward in a rough jerk that swept Frederick's stomach up in the motion. Wind caught underneath the tattered fabric of the sails, dragging the ship out to sea with such force that the wood of the mast shrieked in protest. The first wave came up and over, splattering the deck with salt water.

Frederick resolutely squashed the urge to latch onto the something. Gregor was still laughing like a maniac, even as the ship banked sharply and the wood splintered on the unforgiving rocks of the cliff face. He thanked the Gods that Chrom, Lissa and Stahl were below and not subject the captain's thrill-seeking depravity.

"Heave-ho!" Gregor grinned.

As if at his command the ship hurled forward once again, away from the cliffs and out to sea. Frederick lost himself in the howling wind and disconcerting sensation of the boat _rolling_ underneath his feet. He forgot his suspicion and poured every ounce of his concentration into following Gregor's barely comprehensible commands. Time skated on, oblivious to Frederick's knowledge as the man fought to keep them all from sinking. They swept back towards the cliffs twice more, so close that Frederick could have reached out to brush his fingers against the stone if he so wished.

In sharp contrast to Frederick's quiet determination, Gregor appeared to be revelling in every second of the conflict. Snatches of deep laughter and taunts to the very forces of nature themselves blew through Frederick's ears.

"How long will it last?" Frederick called, squinting at the man through wind and bombardment of sea water.

"HUH? BOW TIE KNIGHT NEED TO BE YELLING, GREGOR NOT HEAR!"

"HOW LONG WILL THIS WEATHER LAST?" Frederick bellowed back.

"OH! NOT LONG NOW, WORST OF STORM BY CLIFFS, YES? BOW TIE KNIGHT WATCH, SEA WILL BE CALMER SOON NOW!"

True to his word, the fierce weather did subside some minutes later. One moment Frederick was battling to keep his feet beneath him and the course rope in his fingers, and the next…stillness.

It was so sudden that at first the Knight was alarmed.

A soft breeze (_breeze_, not wind that could peel the skin form his bones) lifted at Frederick's hair, ushered into the space that had previously been occupied by the unbridled fury of the storm. Light danced across Frederick's face. He blinked, still pushing his soaking his hair from his forehead, and gazed out at his surroundings. It was enough to catch his breath. Out there at sea the sky was darker than the water, a deep indigo painted with wispy grey clouds. The water's themselves were clearer, dotted here and there with great slabs of ice and reflecting a million little pin-points of sunlight on each cresting wave. It stretched on forever. The vastness unnerved him, as did its alien quality. Frederick could see no end to it but it was...extraordinary.

A sharp intake, a sound of appreciation, jolted the Knight. He turned sharply to find the young prince emerged from the belly of the ship and watching the scenery with the wonder.

"I've never seen anything of the like," Chrom breathed, looking more than a little star struck.

"Magnificent, yes?" Gregor grinned, beefy arms resting on the wheel and expression oddly smug as if _he_ had shaped the sea around them, "But deadly. Gregor think most pretty things are like that."

"There may be some truth in that," Chrom replied smiling (whether to himself or Gregor, Frederick was unsure).

The prince's reply knocked Frederick out of his stupor. Gone was the quiet admiration (and tinge of apprehension) the man had felt, instead duty and concerns for his ward's safety came ramming back into place. Beautiful as the place may be, it was still dangerous and Frederick had a responsibility to be level-headed in such situations.

"My Lord, the storm has quelled for the moment but perhaps you would be better returning below deck."

"Nonsense Frederick," Chrom laughed, "I'm a grown man, surely I can be trusted to stand on a boat without you rushing to wrap me in blankets?"

"Is true," Gregor shrugged.

Frederick shot the big man another glare, before attempting again, "My Lord, please consider-"

"Frederick," Chrom's voice was tinged with irritation now, "You must not know me well if you think I'm going to huddle down there while you two do all the work. I appreciate your concern but it's driving me mad down there. I feel so lazy."

"My Lord, you are the prince-"Frederick cut himself off. He cast another suspicious glance at Gregor but the man appeared to be engrossed in watching a pale gull swoop and dive. It did not mean he was not listening. Frederick would not want the stranger brewing up any malevolent schemes if he discovered that Ylissian nobility were aboard.

"I'm well aware of what I am Frederick, and what that means," Chrom replied anyway, squinting against the light bouncing from the sea.

His expression turned wistful as he finished, "I hardly think what I am matters much out here, anyway."

Frederick believed it mattered everywhere. Location would never alter the young prince's birth right, but there was a tightness to Chrom's jaw that Frederick knew meant the twenty-two year old was finished discussing it. Internally his sense of responsibility warred viciously with his reluctance to argue with Chrom until at last Frederick surrendered. He was here to protect Chrom and Lissa, not dictate them. Although it was so very difficult for Frederick to just allow them to walk into what he saw as dangers, at the end of the day it was neither his place to be dishing out orders to either of them.

Instead he replied with a slight bow, "As you wish, my Lord."

Chrom cast him a brief thankful smile, and it made the Knight's concession worth it at least.

"Right!" Chrom clapped his hands, "Is there something I can help with, Gregor?"

"Oh, yes. Young man grab rope like bow tie Knight; Gregor need to do most work now but handy to have people ready, yes?" Gregor grinned, "Gregor liking spirit of new companions!"

"We are not your companions," Frederick corrected sternly.

Gregor's grin only grew toothier, "Why bow tie Knight so strict with Gregor? Make Gregor feel like naughty child."

"Heh! Frederick tends to have that effect on people," Chrom chuckled.

"_Please_ don't encourage him, my Lord," Frederick murmured.

The peace continued for some time. Eventually Lissa managed to sneak above deck with Stahl following and shooting apologetic looks at Frederick from over her head. After much arguing both Chrom and Frederick allowed her to stay on the condition that she stuck to the olive-haired knight like glue. There followed much mutterings of 'hypocrite' and 'tyrant' from Lissa but she accepted, and the two youngest members of the group settled down to alternating between a game of snap and chucking chunks of ice back overboard. Prince Chrom remained fascinated, listening intently as Gregor pointed out particularly strange icebergs or the speckled grey backs of marine life that wandered too close to the surface. Even Frederick found himself relaxing. Marginally.

"Are you certain that you know how to reach the island?" the Great Knight asked.

"Gregor sure," the captain nodded, "Know the way like back of hand, by now. Bow tie Knight worry too much, need to trust in Gregor, yes?"

"You know the route well?" Chrom frowned with thought, "I take it you've been there before then, Gregor?"

Gregor chuckled to himself, "Oh yes, Gregor visited many times."

"You have?" Frederick scowled, "then why didn't you say so before?"

The man shrugged, "No one asked."

"Alright!" Lissa jumped to her feet with a cheery yell, "Suck it, Stahl!"

"Y'know, I don't want to accuse a Lady of cheating or anything but…" Stahl drawled, "I think you _might_ be cheating."

"You're just being a sore loser," Lissa bobbed her tongue out and winked impishly before continuing her victory dance.

Stahl chuckled. He lost another three games, and several of the small paper-wrapped candies in his tuck bag before Gregor warned the group that conditions were about to get rough again. Laden with her winnings and persuaded by a quelling look from Chrom, Lissa skipped back below with little to no complaint. The prince himself though had no such intentions of retreating to safety.

Emboldened by his success to Gregor above deck, Chrom was completely adamant that he was of far more use there than twiddling his thumbs with Lissa and Stahl (where he would be of no use at all). He was quicker to react to the sailor's commands than Frederick was. Chrom focused entirely on the task at hand while throwing personal safety to the wind. On the other hand, Frederick's attention was constantly split between watching his wards, watching Gregor and _then_ watching what he was doing.

"Grab onto something!" Gregor bellowed then laughed, "But no grabbing onto Gregor!"

"I, er, didn't really have the intention of doing so," Chrom replied caught somewhere between confusion and amusement.

"The thought had not even crossed my mind," Frederick muttered darkly.

It was not the weather and the sea they fought against this time, but towering chunks of ice. Some were larger than the boat itself and twice as wide, others jutted out at odd angles like a mule's teeth and others still broke apart when they passed them, splitting down their centres with a thunderous crack and sending the boat drifting with the aftershock ripples. The work kept the three men on their toes. No longer was it a battle of fortitude but one of speed, Gregor dancing around each iceberg before it could pierce the ship's side.

"By the Gods, is_ that_ the tower?"

Frederick shifted his gaze to where Chrom was pointing. It did indeed appear to be a tower, but from this distance was nothing more than one, dark spike against the skyline. It rose up to impossible heights, a fat needle of stonework intruding its way onto the horizon. It also looked like it would topple over at any second.

"They did say a tower but…I wasn't expecting just a tower," Chrom frowned, "I am supposed to just…_run_ up it? I won't have to climb up her hair, will I? Surely not, that'd be ridiculous….at least I _hope_ I don't have to climb up anyone's hair."

"My Lord, the ice!" Frederick shouted.

"Ah, right! Sorry Frederick," Chrom hastily snatched at another rope and yanked it tight, "I'll keep my mind on the job at hand."

"Oy! Big one is coming for Gregor!"

The two Ylissians glanced up at Gregor's (maniacal) roar, only to find the largest iceberg they had seen to date looming over the front of the ship like a disappointed parent. Chrom darted to the either side of the boat.

"There's not enough room to move around it!" he yelled.

"Gregor know," the sailor grinned, "That why Gregor intend to go through it!"

It took several disbelieving seconds for his words to sink in. The moment it finally clicked was practically visible on Chrom's face, his eyes widened then narrowed with determination as he braced himself for impact. Frederick was nowhere near as grimly accepting of Gregor's plan of action. In fact, the Great Knight wouldn't be any more stunned if Gregor had revealed himself to be a dolphin, announced that this had been his nefarious plan all along then dived straight into the icy water.

"This is madness!" Frederick yelled.

Gregor roared with laughter, hands clenched around the wheel until his knuckles were bone white.

"Here it comes," Chrom murmured and squared his shoulders.

"In Plegia, you break ice," Gregor tensed, Frederick watched with wide eyes as the iceberg menaced closer, "or ice break-"

A final push, a shove that rattled every bone in Frederick's body. Ice cracking and shattering apart like thick glass, stones sent flying into the turbulent ocean in huge, grainy clumps and the wood of the ship _screamed _above it all sending Frederick's heart careening in his chest.

"YOU!" Gregor finished above the cacophony.

….

"Do they die?"

Kjelle stared at Mark flatly. So much for her rule on interruptions. Her son, however, seemed completely unthreatened by the scolding look and instead nodded his head at the book impatiently.

"Well do they, mom?"

"You _know_ they don't die, Mark," Kjelle answered, her voice bone-try and unamused, "You've heard this story every night now for Gods know how long. You've taken it to your studies, you talk about it with your father over breakfast and you've demanded that mother place several copies in the royal library."

"I know," Mark replied, his jaw locking in a sure sign that the boy was feeling both defensive and embarrassed, "I just like pretending I haven't heard it before, _okay_."

"Then why don't you just pick another story?" Kjelle frowned, "One you _actually haven't_ heard before."

"Because _that_ one's my favourite," Mark huffed.

Kjelle only continued to stare at her son, trying to follow his logic. Evidently she did not. Any idiosyncrasy in Mark's otherwise sensible behaviour Kjelle blamed on Morgan's genes. There just was no other plausible explanation.

"So….do they?" Mark frowned, glancing up at her from the corner of his eye before flushing and quickly looking away again.

"No, Mark," Kjelle sighed, "They do not die."

"Alright," Mark nodded, "You can carry on reading now."

Kjelle raised an eyebrow.

"…Please," Mark huffed.

….

As it transpired, Plegian icebergs were rather more skilled at breaking you than Gregor's alternative suggestion. In fact the iceberg had made it pretty clear that it had rejected the notion altogether, by rending the boat apart. Chrom grunted as the impact rattled along the deck, forcing him two steps back then teetering him an additional five forward.

There was a hideous moment when the boat lifted (actually_ lifted_) out of the water, and slid halfway up the monstrosity of an iceberg. He could hear the ship's belly scrapping against the ice like a demented violin solo. Chrom's breath came in quick pants. His chest tight with anticipation, he dared not so much as twitch lest it break the careful balance he, the vessel and his friends were straddling on.

It could not, of course, last forever.

In intervals the boat began to shudder back down the iceberg. It snagged, on what or how Chrom did know, all he knew was that suddenly a great chunk of the side was splintering away leaving the rest to slump into the water. The noise it made as it finally gave way sent Chrom's teeth tingling in his gums. The sensation was _extremely _uncomfortable. And then Chrom was no longer concerned about the high-pitched, gut churning noise and became far more troubled about the fact he was no longer standing. He wasn't exactly aware how_ that_ happened either, but he was made _abundantly_ aware when he slid across the deck, legs failing and hands desperately scrambling to find purchase.

"Oof," Chrom's shoulders hit the side of the boat_ hard_, temporarily knocking the air from his lungs.

He barely had time to register the ache lancing along his shoulder blades before alarmingly his feet were pushed upwards into the air. Another groan and the boat shuddered with its final death throes. Chrom's stomach slipped out from under him entirely as the young prince tumbled, feet then rear then the rest of him, over the side of the ship and into the icy waters below.

…..

"I think that's enough for tonight," Kjelle announced, snapping the book closed with a sense of finality and hoisting herself to her feet.

Mark was predictably scandalised.

"What?! You can't leave it like that, mom! That's cruel!" the little boy was so filled with fighting spirit at the very thought that he'd pushed himself halfway out of his blankets.

"I can and I will," Kjelle attempted to tuck him in again despite skinny, squirming limbs and explosive puffs of indignation at the manhandling, "the candle's almost burned down and you have a busy day ahead of you tomorrow."

"Mark!" Kjelle warned and with it Mark desisted.

He wasn't pleased though, not by a long shot. He barely allowed Kjelle to push him back into bed, mother and son wearing identical pinched, stubborn expressions until the blanket was tugged up to his chin. Kjelle eased back, merely watching him with an unreadable expression that made Mark suddenly very self-conscious and fidgety. The red that pedalled across his cheeks almost matched his hair in vibrancy, and Mark found that watching the shadows congregate in the corner above his bed was far safer than staring directly at the unfathomable emotion in his mother's eyes.

"Have you finished sulking?"

Mark very much wanted to say no (Kjelle could read it in every inch of his face) but settled for an almost shy nod of his head instead.

"Good," Kjelle smiled, "Now Prince Lear and his mother, Queen Lucina, will be staying with us tomorrow so I'm sure your father can read to you both instead. I've left the page marked just in case you've forgotten by then where we were."

"I wouldn't forget," Mark huffed.

"I wouldn't expect you to."

In swift, business-like movements Kjelle rose from her seat and extinguished the candle on his bedside table with the pads of her fingers. She smoothed his hair away from his forehead, her face stern but touch so very gentle, and brushed a kiss against the smooth skin.

"Goodnight Mark," Kjelle spoke, outline framed in the doorway by the candlelight in the hallway.

"Goodnight, mom."

With that Kjelle softly shut the door behind her and left her son to curl up in his quilts, dreams of ship wrecks and noble declarations from a different young prince galloping through his head.

A/N:

I love Gregor. I really do, hopefully I did him justice. I should be updating this every Monday or Tuesday, so one chapter a week just to give myself enough time to build up a backlog of chapters in case my will to write shrivels up for a while. On another note, I am completely surprised and very thankful for the response last chapter! This is my first story and to be honest I didn't even expect one follower, never mind three reviews, followers and one favourite :)

To those reviewers (since my PM is disabled):

Gunlord500: Thank you very much for the review! And I have to admit I have a soft spot for AUs too :)

The Shadows Rider: Thanks for the review, especially the compliment about my writing (blushed a bit reading that, I'll admit) since I worry whether or not I tend to bog the text down in adjectives. This is a bit of a spoiler but_ most_ of the princesses will be from Chrom's support pool and as for Robin/Chrom if I gave it away that was purely accidental XD Still I'm not 100% on the pairings yet so that might all change ;)

ThatOnePerson: Thank you very much for the review (and the first one for this fic too)! Don't apologise about the advice, it was really helpful (as you can tell the Sers are all Sirs in this one) and that's what reviews are here for :) I'm pleased you like the concept, I was worried that it might be too cheesy so it was really reassuring reading that!


	3. A Tower, a Dragon and a Princess

A Tower, a Dragon and a Princess.

Prince Lear had to be the most courteous child Morgan had ever known.

Although he was only twelve, Morgan had met full-grown adults cultivated in the upper-classes with manners far poorer than Lear's. Not that Morgan expected much else from a child raised by Lucina but still, it was hard not to feel appreciated when the boy came to visit even if he only just reached Morgan's stomach. Morgan was not a very tall man.

"Would you like a biscuit?" Mark offered, spraying the older boy with crumbs.

"Yes, thank you," Lear smiled softly, accepting the proffered goody with a grateful nod and a murmured, "My thanks."

Mark watched from the corner of his eye as Lear deftly nibbled (not a single crumb escaping to litter the bed sheets) then smiled with pleasure and surprise.

"It's wonderful," Lear enthused.

"Yeah," Mark nodded, "Dad cooked those, so they're okay to eat."

Lear turned to him in confusion, "'Okay to eat?' Would that mean…forgive me, I should not trouble you with such questions."

"It's alright," Mark said with a serious expression, "Just don't eat anything my mom offers."

"I shall take your counsel into consideration, Prince Mark," Lear replied, every bit as sombre as his companion.

Morgan had to bite down on his smile. It wouldn't do for his son to catch him smiling at them and accuse his father of condescending him again. But it was difficult not to chuckle to himself. Both boy's made quite the juxtaposition, one with a shock of untameable bright red hair and the other sporting deep indigo, combed neatly to silk-like texture. Mark's face set in dignified gravity while Lear's was perpetually accommodating and patient. Despite this Mark and Lear got along famously, Lear smoothing over some of Mark's wilful nature while Mark lingered protectively at the sensitive older boy's side.

Their situations demanded a certain level of maturity but the way both held court still managed to tickle Morgan. He would have told them both they were adorable if he thought he could get away with it.

"So, your mom told me that she left you hanging halfway through a chapter last night," Morgan called across from where he was pursuing the bookshelf, "Is that right, Marky-boy?"

"Yeah," Mark huffed.

"Deplorable behaviour," Morgan grinned, clicking his tongue with faux disapproval, "I suppose I'll just have to pick up where she left off."

The tactician breathed an 'ah,_ there_ it is' when he finally located the time-worn book and slid it free from between two volumes of 'A Study of Man-Eating Beasts'. Morgan spun on his heel with a smile upon his lips, which wavered slightly when he managed to dislodge some Bridle Bits and had to hurry over to right them again before they made too much noise. His son was rolling his eyes at his father's over-eager behaviour when he eased himself into the armchair. Morgan only winked in reply, shifting so he could light another candle on Mark's bedside table.

"And you, young Lear," Morgan addressed the other boy with a kind smile, "you don't object to us picking up half-way through a chapter too much, do you?"

"Of course not," Lear smiled, "I very much enjoy these bedtime tales."

"See, very agreeable. Unlike _someone_ we know," Morgan grinned and reached forward to ruffle Mark's hair despite his squawking protests.

"I am too agreeable!" Mark blushed furiously, "I let you read to me _every night_!"

"You _demand_ I read to you every night," Morgan laughed.

Lear chuckled politely into his hand, turning his shaking shoulders away from a red-faced Mark in an effort to lessen the boy's embarrassment. Mark looked ready to turn on Lear until the older boy cleared his throat, collected his control then looked so terribly guilty about _losing_ it in the first place that Mark's annoyance whooshed out of his little body in one, hearty sigh.

"Alright dad, can you just read the story now?"

"Sure thing, Marky-boy," Morgan smiled then cleared his throat, scanning the page for the paragraph Kjelle had left it on the night before….

…

Chrom came up _gasping_ for air-

…..

"Dad!" Mark yelled.

"What?" Morgan laughed, "Your mother said you missed my amateur dramatics."

Lear was cracking up again, once more politely muffling it into his hands.

Mark gave his companion another quelling look, "Don't laugh Lear, you'll only encourage him and then he'll _never_ stop."

"You wound me, my son," Morgan deflated melodramatically.

"Can you just read the story," Mark sighed, "_Properly_ this time?"

"As you wish," Morgan smiled and relocated his place.

…..

Chrom came up gasping for air. A moment of clean, brisk oxygen before he was yanked deep under the water again. He felt much like a marionette on twisted strings, helpless to whims of the currents. Something caught his shoulder, something else dragged at ankle and yet another unidentified force sent above the waves for one desperate, blessed second.

Through the combination of cold and panic, Chrom thought of nothing. His body ran on instinct, struggling futilely for any kind of handhold. He had never experienced anything like it. And yet, the possibility of death did not occur to Chrom.

It should have. He fully registered that he was, in fact, in mortal danger. But it still felt wrong somehow; a far of possibility that could only be called so because of the fact it was _possible_ not _probable, _like Emmeryn throwing away all dinner etiquette, leaping on the table and shovelling food into her mouth with her fists.

_Emmeryn._

The thought brought with it another word.

_Lissa._

Chrom's hands renewed their furious efforts. Through what felt like pure force of will alone he managed to claw his fingers into a jutting lump of rock. His legs crashed against the bottom and he locked his jaw against the gasp of pain lest he relinquish what little oxygen he had. The stone chafed at the exposed skin of his fingers and face as the prince reached for those brief glimpses of watery sunlight. Finally his head broke the surface. His eyes clenched against the sea salt, as he flung his head back to gulp down stinging lungful after stinging lungful of air.

He was shivering uncontrollably but that hardly mattered when he couldn't hear a damn thing over the sound of wave and wind.

"Lissa!" Chrom yelled, trying to squint his eyes open.

He couldn't even hear his own voice, never mind her reply. If she had replied.

A terrible fear bloomed deep in Chrom's gut. Far worse than when he'd fallen weightless from the side of the ship. It reached out with hooked fingers, grasping at every corner of Chrom's mind and wrapping his thoughts about it like a blanket.

"LISSA!" he roared, "LISSA CAN YOU HEAR ME? ANSWER ME, DAMN IT! LISSA!"

Nothing.

Chrom's head swivelled about in every direction, maybe he could see her. Desperately he pivoted, terrified to linger in one direction lest he miss her in another and terrified to rush to the next lest he had missed her in a previous.

_Oh, Gods!_

Breath blew into wisps and his body was shaking so hard with the combination of wet clothes and artic temperatures that his teeth were quite literally chattering. And Lissa _still_ hadn't answered. 'Please be alright', he didn't know who or what he was praying to but Chrom hardly cared.

"LI-"

"CHROM! CHROM, IS THAT YOU?"

The relief he felt at that moment was so intense, Chrom wasn't sure whether he would laugh or cry. He settled, instead, for whipping round so quickly that he almost lost his grip on the rock again. His sister was huddled further along the narrow stream of water the iceberg and the stone he was clinging to had created. The current appeared far more vicious there, little eddies stripping away grainy chunks from the walls, but Lissa had made it nonetheless.

She was in fact faring far better than her older brother. Despite the added weight of her dress and the limp shape of green armour beside her, Lissa had somehow (and the_ Gods_ could only know how she'd managed it) levered herself and an unconscious Stahl onto the lip of what Chrom was realising must be the island. Her hair was stuck against her face, big blue eyes ringed with red and her mouth gasping in air.

"Have you seen Frederick?" she called desperately, "I can't find him or Gregor! Stahl hit his head real bad too, and our supplies are on the boat and what if we can't find everyone and how are we going to get back and what about-"

"Peace Lissa!" Chrom grunted as he moved his freezing body closer, "It's alright, just breathe; we're going to be fine, okay?"

He tried for a reassuring smile, uncertain as to how comforting it would be when his lips had turned blue and he could no longer feel his fingers. But gradually the panic eased slightly from Lissa's eyes.

"Okay," she replied quietly.

"Alright then!" Chrom grinned, "I'm going to get on that rock and then we're going to look for everyone, what else can you see up there?"

"Umm," Lissa's shape disappeared as she hastily rose to her feet. Using a hand and a sopping wet sleeve to shield her view as she stood on tip-toes.

Chrom took the moment of her distraction to try and lever himself up. She seemed calmer. Chrom understood that sometimes all people really needed was a direction, was someone wresting control of the situation when they, themselves, felt too weak or scared to do so for themselves. It was an effort that would have been ruined had Lissa seen him struggling to drag his aching body onto land. He needed to look strong right now. Lissa needed him.

He frowned with determination as he finally (_tortuously_) managed to drag his forearms onto the rock as some leverage. Chrom heaved and he could hear the water sluicing from his lower body as his feet scrambled for purchase below. Above the rocks there was only ice and dark blue skies and Lissa whipping about for a better view. Chrom shivered. It was so damn _cold_.

Suddenly there was nothing under his feet anymore and Lissa had turned, face full of terror, and he was weightless and then nothing.

…

"Oh my," Lear breathed quietly.

The young prince's face was stricken, enough so that Morgan was considerably concerned about whether he should continue or not.

"Forgive me," Lear smiled briefly at both Mark and his father as if sensing their indecision, before frowning softly down at his hands again, "I…hadn't realised that Grandfather and Aunt Lissa had suffered such things."

"But you've heard it before," Mark frowned with equal concern and confusion.

"I have, yes," Lear nodded, "But only when I was a small child and parts such as that I have forgotten since then. Grandma and Grandpa-I mean _my grandparents_," Lear corrected himself, "tend to display some distaste for the tale due to their concerns about me gaining any unnecessary ideas…about what I _should_ be doing, you see?"

Mark, face still serious, nodded sagely and Lear was visibly emboldened by his attentive response.

"I…had only remembered the parts that mattered to me," Lear continued, "I'd forgotten about the dangers they had faced."

"I can leave it for tonight if you don't want to hear anymore, Lear?" Morgan suggested gently.

"No, of course not," Lear smiled up at him, "I was only shocked for a moment. Merely caught off guard, I assure you I have faced far worse in my studies."

"…If you get too scared," Mark began slowly, "Tell me, alright?"

"Mark," Lear sighed patiently, "I was not scared."

"Uh-huh," Mark was clearly doubtful about _that_, "….just keep it in mind. Go on, dad."

Morgan dutifully turned back to the task at hand.

….

When Lissa woke, the first thing she registered was that she felt like mould. Crusty, damp, hideous _mould_. She wasn't the type of girl to be _too_ concerned about her appearances (as her long-suffering older sister knew quite well) but Lissa was certain that being alarmed about feeling like a fungus could not be contributed to vanity.

"Wha….? Huh?" Her voice creaked up from somewhere in her throat.

_That_ alternatively felt like sand, not any more pleasant but at least they were switching it up a bit. Slowly other snatches of the outside world began to register and Lissa realised she was no longer freezing cold. Quite warm in fact, toasty even, and she was no longer standing. There was something cushioned beneath her but unfortunately not padded thick enough to avoid multiple hard digs into her spine. Wherever she was smelled nice though, like the sharp scent of peppermint threading through the heavier, tangy smell of cooking spices. It reminded her of winter feasts back at home.

There was a low hum of conversation somewhere to her right. Lissa frowned and found it took surprisingly little effort to open her eyes. She was on pallet, somewhere with bare, curved walls and flags hanging unevenly from little nooks and crannies in the walls. Ten more pallets ringed the walls and a little, black pot bubbled over the brazier at the very centre of the room. Beside the beds, brazier and occasional flag, the room was rather bare (impersonal even). It made Lissa want to fidget, she didn't like silences or empty rooms. They always made her feel too loud, too clumsy and too childish.

Lissa had barely pulled herself up into sitting position when she besieged by affectionate (slightly panicked) eyes.

"You're awake," Chrom's breath of relief bloomed across her face and made her nose ticklish "Are you alright? You were really snoring back there."

"I do not-!" Lissa began instinctively but stopped suddenly.

Chrom's expression instantly tightened in concern, "What? What is it? Is there something wrong?"

She had the almost uncontrollable urge to hug him. There was not a bruise in sight, his skin was back to its healthy pallor and Lissa wouldn't have believed that they'd escaped drowning if she hadn't, well, _lived_ through it. She could remember with perfect clarity, glancing back at her older brother seeing him slip, watching as his head jerked forward then back like a ragdoll's in the fists of a bad-tempered child. It would have been a little funny, y'know, if it wasn't absolutely horrible because it had been _Chrom _not some stupid little toy and her heart had stopped when he fell from view.

"I…" Lissa coughed away the sudden tightness in her throat and narrowed her eyes against those traitorous pin-pricks, "I do _not _snore!"

"Oh, you do," Chrom grinned, "Like a pig."

Lissa grinned and slapped at him, "You're such a dunderhead! Urgh, take that back!"

"Easy, easy, peace Lissa," Chrom managed through his laughter, "I take it back! I take it back!"

"Good," Lissa smiled pleased with herself then raised a fist in response to Chrom's smirk, "But you better live in fear, big brother, or you'll be tasting my fists of fury again!"

"I'll keep that in mind," Chrom smiled and shook his head.

Lissa had been unable to see because Chrom's big, goofy (brilliantly, perfectly a-ok) head had been blocking her direct line of sight. This was a small hurdle, easily cleared by blinking over Chrom's shoulder.

Two pairs of eyes blinked back. Stahl hovered behind Chrom, making no effort to hide his worry until Lissa popped up and the lines between his brows eased into a warm smile. Frederick was clearly tense but trying to restrain himself, he marched forward when she wiggled her fingers at the two Knights in greeting.

"Hi guys," Lissa grinned, "Wow, you're both all patched up too! And we're all together now, here...wait where is here?"

The three men glanced at one another.

"We, er…."Stahl rubbed at the back of his head, "don't actually know. We didn't want to go off exploring with you still conked out. But it's good to see you're fine, Lady Lissa."

"You too, Stahl. You scared the life outta me back there! Don't do that again or I'll stick frogs down your pants."

She wasn't lying (about the scared part, only half-lying about the frogs because she didn't have any on hand). Stahl's easy-going and friendly nature had become something of a shelter for Lissa over the last year. Stahl didn't sigh at her behaviour or make her worry about her adequacy, nor did he glue himself to her shadow as if he expected her to just…explode or something at any minute like Frederick sometimes did. They were both only a few years younger than Chrom, but being the youngest in the group and the youngest in their families had incited some sort of fraternity between them (Lissa was still mulling over secret handshakes). Seeing Stahl waxy and bleeding, and being able to do nothing about it….in all honesty it had really shook her.

"Wait…" Lissa frowned, "How _are_ we all fine, anyway?"

"I don't know," Chrom shrugged, "I woke up and my wounds were gone."

"Same here," Stahl nodded, "Clothes dry, belly full and everything."

"All not be thinking she just leave you out there to die," Gregor's accented voice drifted over from behind Lissa.

While Chrom, Stahl and Frederick were perched on the end of her pallet, sitting on the pallet across from her or standing attentively over the other three (respectively); Gregor was lounging on the pallet behind them, arms crossed behind his head and booted feet crossed at the ankle.

"Who is 'she'?" Frederick questioned suspiciously.

"Lady of Tower," Gregor shrugged.

"Hang on," Stahl blinked, "you knew the princess in this tower, already?"

"Gregor been to Tower many time," he continued nonplussed, "If Gregor hurt too badly, princess patch him up and send him out after."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Chrom questioned, "Wait, don't answer that, I already know you'll probably say-"

"No one asked," Gregor grinned to himself.

"-yes," Chrom sighed, amused and exasperated all at once, "exactly that. So what happens now? Does the princess come down to speak with us or do we have to seek her out?"

"Oy, oy, oy," Gregor chuckled, "Young man very full of the impatience. No, Lady not come down, door open and people leave as they like….Gregor not sure how we all make with the leaving now ship is ruined."

"So this is the first time you've been shipwrecked here?" Chrom frowned, "But I thought you said that the princess healed you after you'd been injured."

Gregor scowled and Lissa realised that this was perhaps the first time she'd seen the large man properly do so.

"That is what Gregor said," he muttered, "Gregor get injured by dragon, not sailing."

Chrom's frown took a determined, completive edge as he lapsed into silence. Frederick was equally as grim. The atmosphere immediately took a heavy turn and Lissa couldn't stand it.

"Okay I give!" she threw her hands, "Why_ were_ you in the tower before?"

"Oh!" this perked Gregor up quite considerably, "little pig-tail girl ask easy question. Gregor come to Tower to convince princess to marry him!"

Silence.

"What?" Lissa shouted.

"Wow," Stahl breathed, both eyebrows in his hairline.

"Huh?" Chrom gaped.

"I always suspected that he'd lost his grip on sanity," Frederick murmured.

"Oy, oy, oy!" Gregor thundered, "Why everyone so shocked? Gregor handsome man, yes?"

Another silence, this one more telling than the last.

Since no one in the room knew exactly how to break it to the man gently (though Frederick had some inspired methods on breaking it to Gregor non-too-gently) they all hastily returned to the task at hand. Or more specifically, how they were going to get to a princess (that did not appear to want to be seen) through a dragon (that did not appear to want to see them very much either).

"Lissa-" Chrom began gently.

But the young princess could already tell where her older brother was going, and vehemently did not approve. Chrom was using the same tone of voice he adopted when telling her not to go climbing, not to stand too close when watching him train, not to do _anything_ and to merely sit there looking pretty and useless. Well, Lissa was not having any of it. _She_ had pulled her and Stahl to safety before, she'd been of use then so why had the situation changed drastically now? She'd insisted on accompanying them on this quest in hopes of proving that she wasn't some delicate little bauble once and for all, and she had no intention of doing anything to the contrary.

"No way, Chrom!" she interrupted fiercely, "I'm coming with you!"

"Lissa, this isn't like on the boat," Chrom frowned, "You can _avoid_ danger this time, and I'm not about to throw my little sister at a fire-breathing dragon!"

"Then don't throw me!" Lissa shot back.

"This isn't a joke, Lissa!" Chrom shouted, "It'd be better for you to stay here, if not for your own good then for my piece of mind at least!"

"No way, I'm coming and if you try to stop me, I'll just follow you! No one else here knows how to heal anyway, you need me out there!"

Chrom and Lissa glared at one another, shoulders set and fists clenched. Her big brother was trying his upmost not to curse, while Lissa was fighting the sudden urge to whack Chrom round the head with her staff. She was sick to death of being babied, of being told how fragile she was and how her life was so much more important than everyone else's even though she never seemed to do anything! Couldn't Chrom understand that? Out of everyone, wouldn't Chrom empathise with that bubble of inadequacy lodged in her chest? So why was he being so damned stubborn!

"Fine!" Chrom breathed explosively, "Fine! But you better glue yourself to Frederick; I'm serious if you're more than five steps away from him I'll carry you back to this room myself, quest be damned!"

"Yes!" Lissa chirped but quietened when Chrom shot her a scolding look, "Sorry, sorry…but you'll be glad I'm coming, Chrom, I promise!"

"Just…"the prince ragged a hand through his hair in some strange effort to vent his frustration, "Just make sure I don't regret this,_ please_."

"Now," Chrom turned to address the rest of the group, "we need to come up with a strategy to defeat this dragon. Gregor, you've faced the beast before, is there anything that could be of use to us?"

Lissa put considerable effort into containing her grin as she plonked herself between Stahl and Frederick on the other pallet. The more senior Knight had taken Chrom's orders with predictable gravity, and was hanging off her shoulder like a stern-faced barnacle. Lissa, however, was finding that not even that could dampen her mood._ She was part of the team!_

"Hmm," Gregor rubbed one paw of a hand across his chin, "Dragon is dragon, yes? Angry, big and fire-breathing. Ha! Much like Gregor's mother!"

"That actually explains _a lot_," Stahl muttered to Lissa.

Lissa tried to muffle her snort of laughter in her hand, but didn't succeed enough to avoid alerting Frederick who shot Stahl another disapproving look.

"Although….now Gregor think on it," Gregor continued, "Tower too small for dragon to fly…"

"That's something," Chrom pounced immediately, expression taunt with determination and serious deliberation, "The dragon may be bigger than us, but that would only mean that the creature's movements are more limited than ours. What's the layout of the tower like?"

"Like tower," Gregor shrugged, "Tall and, oy," he sighed, "so many stairs…But not enough stairs to defeat Gregor!"

"I don't think Gregor is much use in ascertaining the terrain, My Lord," Frederick added, "Perhaps we should send out a scout instead?"

Frederick shot Stahl a very pointed look as Chrom mulled the suggestion over, and Gregor grumbled to himself about 'Bow tie Knights', 'manners' and 'gratefulness'. Stahl, however, had gained a sudden and all-compassing fascination with the state of his gauntlets.

"I'll go!" Lissa's hand shot up.

"No!" Frederick and Chrom cried in unison, with Frederick tagging a belated 'my Lady' after his protest.

"I think," Frederick began, his gaze wandering back over to Stahl (who was now putting considerable effort into whistling obliviously), "what we would need is someone to trust, someone light on their feet, someone like…."

"Gregor?" voiced with confusion.

"No," Frederick scowled, "I have someone else in mind."

He smiled and it was that faint, pleased smile that the three other Ylissians had come to know and fear. The younger Knight finally looked up only to find his senior smiling calmly down at him. Stahl paled. And gulped…_loudly_.

Ten seconds later, Stahl was cautiously edging his way out the door. Lissa pressed herself against the wood of the door, ears cocked up for even the slightest sound. The smell of spice and peppermint was far less pungent closer to the door, an achievement Lissa suspected was aided by the rush of cold air creeping through the crack. She peeked an eye out and instantly found her view blocked by the back of a green suit of armour.

"Stahl," she whispered and jabbed a finger out to poke him, "Go on, scout!"

"I _am_ scouting," he whispered back, "….just from the safety of the door."

"You're such a coward," she pouted.

"Or maybe I have a healthy respect for my life," he replied in hushed tones, "There _is_ a dragon somewhere out here, y'know?"

"_Somewhere,"_ Lissa sighed.

Stahl pulled in a huge breath (Lissa watching as his shoulders lifted) in what was perhaps an effort to suck in some courage along with the air. He moved one tentative step at a time, murmuring reassurances and keeping his knees bent, freezing like a fox at the slightest disturbance. Lissa wished she still had cause to dub Stahl a baby, but honestly she was wondering if anxiety was contagious.

Stahl suddenly paused altogether. Lissa's breath caught as she knotted her fingers. Slowly, slowly Stahl crept towards something Lissa couldn't see and then…

"ARGHH!"

"Stahl! What happen-"Lissa deflated, having rushed from the room only to find the young man…almost crying with laughter.

"R-revenge," he choked out.

_"You_! You…dunderhead!"

Stahl could barely breathe (through a combination of laughter and Lissa attacking him _for_ afore-mentioned laughter) so it was no surprise that he didn't notice Frederick's presence until the other man was looming over him.

"Report, Sir Stahl," Frederick ordered, "….if you can."

"Frederick! Sir!" Stahl choked, "I was...er….," Stahl gave up on trying to supply an excuse that could possibly satisfy Frederick and instead launched into his report, "There doesn't seem to be anything out here, Sir. I haven't heard anything either."

"Perhaps dragon is sleeping," Gregor shouldered his way around Frederick, a grin on his lips.

"Let's hope so," Chrom added, also pushing his way out the room and surveying his surroundings, "Alright, stick to together everyone and follow me!"

…..

"I'm hesitant to ask but….it's highly unlikely that the dragon's just sleeping, isn't it?" Lear edged.

"You have to wait and see," Mark punctuated his speech with a decisive nod.

"I'll take that as a yes," Lear sighed through a wry smile.

"Well," Morgan smirked, "We can't make it too easy for them, can we?"

"They survived a shipwreck," Lear replied aghast, "I think making it easier for them would not be outside the realm of permissibility."

"Don't be such a softie, Lear," Mark frowned, "Anything worth doing is hard to do, Chrom wouldn't be much of a hero if he just had to walk into the tower and invite the princess out for sandwiches."

"_True_…"Lear mused, "But there are circumstances that a situation, when forced, will break. The princess has tended to their wounds but hasn't made an effort to entertain their company; which would suggest she doesn't _want_ to be sought out. Storming her tower, regardless of her own personal wishes, is not only rude but incredibly inconsiderate-"Lear paused then flushed to a shade of red that almost rivalled Mark's hair, "Forgive me, I meant none of that as an insult to Grandpa-_Grandfather _Chrom."

"Why are you saying sorry?" Mark frowned with confusion, "That's _your _opinion, ain't it? And it isn't like you're calling me and dad idiots for thinking differently. If you worry too much about what you say upsetting people, then you won't have anything to say at all."

"That…"Lear blinked, "That is very wise, Prince Mark."

Now it was Mark's turn to blush vermillion, "I, I didn't mean anything by it! It's not that smart! Not…really…"

"_But_," Morgan tried to steer the focus away from his son who was in real danger of overheating, "some consideration of the feelings of those around you is wise too. Like most things, it's about moderation."

"I see," Lear nodded, "Thank you. Please continue."

Mark was too busy trying to hide his blushing face in his shoulder to offer any objection, so Morgan smiled and picked up where he'd left off.

…..

The tower was, as to be suspected, circular in design. Thin walkways of bare stone winding up and up around a large empty circle that ran from top to bottom. They were only one level from the ground floor, a huge space decorated with a tiled design of a falling star in midnight blues and deep purple. A chandelier hung with what appeared to be millions of tiny, clean-cut icicles precariously teetered at the very top of the tower. There were no windows, and the scarcity of natural light had been compensated somewhat by hundreds of tiny lanterns dangling from the ceiling of the twisting walkway. Each was lit by no flame Lissa had ever seen before, the colour pale blue and soft against the hard edges of stone.

Lissa felt a sudden pang of sympathy for the unidentified princess. Yes, the tower was very grand but it was also very cold and empty. Sometimes her life in Ylisstol had felt like a prison to her but here….well it really did look very much like a prison, if a pretty one.

"I can't imagine what it'd be like to live here all the time," Lissa voiced with a hint of melancholy.

"Neither can I," Chrom caught her eye and the siblings traded an expression of shared pity.

"Not so bad," Gregor shrugged, "Lady has belly full of food and dragon to keep her safe."

"But she doesn't speak to anyone! She can't leave," Lissa argued passionately, "and this place is so…so _cold_! Chrom, we have to help her!"

"Agreed," Chrom gently smiled and nodded back at her, "Right, me, Gregor and Stahl up front in triangle formation. I want Frederick and you guarding our backs, be ready with those healing spells if the dragon _does _decide to show up."

"Right!" Lissa nodded.

"Everyone keep your ears open," Chrom turned to give them all an expression filled with such confidence that it was nigh impossible_ not _to believe they were everything that look promised, "Let's go!"

They climbed at a steady pace, the even floor (which was a marvel considering the sheer height of the tower) made the ascent easier, but did little to cure the persistent draft. Lissa marched forward, wedged between her brother and Frederick at her back. She kept a firm grip on her staff, on stand-by for any needed healing or head-whacking, and avoided drifting too close to the side overlooking the steep drop at all costs. Lissa found the silence punctuated now and then by the heavy clank of armour more than a little unnerving. She didn't like the quiet, it made her feel stupid and brash in comparison.

"Hey, Gregor?" Lissa asked, "You never did say why you were trying to get the princess to marry you."

"No," he replied, "Gregor did not say."

Lissa waited. When it looked like the man wasn't about to offer a further explanation, she decided to give him a little nudge, "Soooo….why _are_ you trying to get the princess to marry you?"

"Oh…is long story," Gregor exhaled heavily through his nose and scratched at the back of his head.

Gregor's expression looked so weary that Lissa almost regretted asking, but as soon as the words of apology had edged their way onto her lips the orange-haired man began speaking again.

"Gregor not always sailor….well Gregor still sail back then, most in Plegia do, but Gregor was not_ just_ sailor," he smiled kindly down at her, very much as an indulgent uncle would to a favourite niece, "Gregor once youngest child in noble family, like little pig-tailed girl, yes?"

"Wait! How did you know that-"

"Little girl thinking Gregor stupid?" the man laughed, "Gregor smell it on you and young man from fifty miles away!"

"That is distressing," Frederick scowled.

"I'm not sure whether to be impressed or a little creeped out," Stahl added uncertainly.

"Go on, Gregor," Chrom spoke from ahead (funny, Lissa hadn't realised that he'd been paying attention).

"Where was Gregor? Hmm…Ah! Yes, Gregor come from noble family. We had big house, many ships and Gregor's brother was strong and brave," he puffed with pride as he spoke, his wide smile almost blinding until…it slipped, "Then bandits come and Gregor lose everything."

The silence was unbearable this time. No one knew quite what to do. Lissa wished fervently that Emmeryn were here. Emmeryn would know what to do and what to say. What could Lissa possibly offer to a man who had, in his own words, lost everything? Parroting condolences, no matter how heartfelt, just seemed so…so frivolous.

"But, such things happen," Gregor reeled in another smile (this one tighter than any of the previous) before anyone could say anything, "Now Gregor thinking if he marry princess, Gregor's family name will be restored again and Gregor no longer have to do odd jobs for coin."

"So you're a fortune-hunter," Frederick said bluntly.

"_Frederick_!" Lissa yelled, completely shocked that the Knight could be so heartless, "Gregor just told us something really personal, and you just blurt _that_ out!"

"Um, guys…"Stahl edged, though no one listened.

"It is the truth, my Lady," Frederick answered squarely, "He is not pursuing the princess for her own qualities, but for the quality of her title."

"Oy, oy, oy!" Gregor thundered, "How what Gregor doing different from young man and bow tie Knight! _You've_ not met princess either, yes? And young man is still after chasing her for marriage!"

"C-chasing her for…._marriage_?" Chrom's face bloomed bright red in a curious combination of anger and embarrassment, "I am not! We are here to save her, for the good of Ylisse, not so I can force her into…into _marrying _me out of gratitude!"

"_Guys_," Stahl whispered more urgently.

"Well, who says Gregor's any different! It's not like he's gonna force her to do anything, right? He just wants to meet her and see if she's interested, that's all!" Lissa shot back, feeling as though someone should be on Gregor's side (besides she felt a little guiltily that she hadn't been able to offer some means of comfort before).

"My Lady, your words are very kind but your naiveté does you no credit," Frederick replied, "A man does not challenge a dragon to combat for the sole purpose of _speaking _to a woman."

"He might do! I dunno, Gregor might be super romantic or something!"

"GUYS!"

The four spun on their heels to see what had Stahl so distressed, and found a little girl blinking up at them. She had little pixie features, big, luminous eyes and snub nose surrounded by fly-away strands of green hair that had escaped her ponytail. Her dress was more than a little alarming for a child her age, a scaled piece of material doing what it could single-handedly to cover her chest while thin strips of leather and cloth covered her legs. The girl rocked back and forth on the heels of her thigh-high boots, blowing her cheeks up and blinking her big pink eyes in a manner that reminded Lissa of humming-birds. She was all bright colours and activity in what was an otherwise icy setting, and for that at least Lissa could not help being captivated.

"Heya!" her voice was high and sugary, "what'cha up to?"

"Hello, there," Chrom took charge while the others still acclimatised to the girl's sudden appearance.

The prince eased himself onto one knee so he was at eye-level with the girl, then spoke kindly, "My name is Chrom. This is my sister, Lissa, and the two Knights there are Stahl and Frederick. That large man at the back is Gregor."

Lissa and Stahl offered little waves in way of greeting while Frederick and Gregor eyed the girl suspiciously from their superior height. The girl, however, wasn't even slightly intimidated by the presence of five armed strangers and waved hugely back at them with both arms.

"And what name do we call you by?" Chrom asked.

"Oh, you can call me Nowi!" she beamed, "but you guys shouldn't be here, Robin says visitors give her a headache."

"A headache, huh?" Chrom smiled.

"Uh-huh!" Nowi nodded vigorously, "BIG ones! Robin sighs like this," the little girl sighed with so much exaggeration that even her fingers slumped forward to brush the stone floor, "and then I have to wait for her to deal with them before we can have something to eat! Which sometimes takes AGES, but when I get a little _too_ bored I sneak something anyway," here she winked.

Lissa snorted with laughter, Stahl smiling and shaking his head beside her.

"Is that so, Nowi?" Chrom's voice was tinged with amusement, "Could you tell where this Robin is, or how you got here at least?"

"Oh, I've been here for…." She puffed her cheeks, rapidly counting on her fingers before answering, "…a real long, long time but Robin only started living here a couple of years ago! I dunno if I should tell you where she is though since-"her eyes widened suddenly, "Wait! I can't talk to you! Ah, I did it all wrong!"

Immediately after that the girl dashed off, a blur of green and pink. She slammed a door open further up the passageway and bolted inside, away from view.

"Wait!" Chrom called but she was already gone, "damn it!"

They took off after her, armour clanking and clipping against it itself and boot falls thudding on the stone. All that racket was promptly drowned out as a monstrous roar rent the air. Lissa almost dropped to her knees, her hands instinctively flying up to cover her ears and her heart rabbit-paced in her chest as that old, primal fear came galloping to the forefront of her mind.

"….The dragon?" she breathed, sharing a shocked expression with her brother.

His twisted into anger at his next words, "Nowi! She fled into that room!"

"The room _with _the dragon!" Stahl gaped.

"Quick before the dastard gets to her!" Chrom roared.

And with that they all piled into the room and into the face of a very upset dragon.

Lissa had never seen anything like it. Most of the wildlife in Ylisse tended to be hairy, and even if it didn't favour the furry side she'd never seen one smoking before (unless it was on fire but that was neither here or there). The creature's long, sculpted head swayed out towards them from a sinewy neck, black tongue tasting the air like a snakes and two curling ribbons of smoke streaming up its nostrils. Light glinted and slewed at regular intervals from the lime green scales, the blue glow swerving along the ridge of the longer plates beside the creature's jaw and forehead while the chainmail underbelly of its neck glittered. Air hissed from between needle-point teeth when the dragon's slitted eyes aligned on them, then a horrendous gurgling rise-and-fall that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Only its _head_ was bigger than Lissa's entire body.

"….Gods," Chrom murmured, instinctively falling back several steps as the dragon clawed itself out into the passageway.

Some of the stone gave way around the dragon's claws though this only made it easier for the creature to slink out of the room. It coiled its armoured back, wings twitching and tail lashing the air behind it. In honesty, other than its neck and head the dragon was quite bulky. The tufts of canvas like ornament attached to the crown of its head and feet didn't do much to distract from the sheer weight of its torso. But no one doubted its speed likely rivalled their own.

Lissa was gripping her staff so tightly, her fingers had gone numb.

"Stay calm!" Chrom's voice cut through the fear, "Nowi may be in danger! We need to have courage!"

"B, but Chrom, it's so much bigger than us!" Lissa cried.

"That's right," Chrom nodded, unsheathing his sword and testing the grip, "but that's not always an advantage. Stahl, Gregor on my mark!"

The three men leaned forward, swords in hand and eyes focused on where the dragon stood coiled and hissing, while Lissa was snatched by the wrist behind Frederick. She wanted to protest but found that that earlier bravado had failed her. The towering shape of Frederick's back had never seen so comforting.

"We can do this!"

Chrom's voice echoed around her. Chrom…Chrom was depending on her, and she might not be able to swing a sword or lift a shield beside him but she could heal away the worst of the group's damage. That was something, right? But to do anything she needed to keep her cool. Lissa pulled in a breath, trying to stop her hands from shaking. Chrom had never let her down before and she was determined to repay the favour.

"Charge!"

The three men hurtled themselves forward, Stahl and Chrom darting under the dragon's rearing legs while Gregor (taller by a few hands-span than the other two) hurled himself at the reptilian head. The huge man's arms wrapped themselves around the creature's elegant jaws, stout fingers barely brushing against one another from either side. The dragon hissed at the affront and Lissa watched in terror as thin tendrils of flames like creeping ivy escaped from between the gaps in the dragon's needle-like teeth. Gregor grunted, but the dragon's reaction had done little else than to encourage the man to tighten his grasp.

Chrom and Stahl were not wasting the opportunity.

Stahl smacked at the fleshy sides of creature's knee, surrounded by one large plate of scale. Chrom drove the pommel of his sword into the joint where leg connected to torso. At once both the dragon's back legs gave out beneath it, its head smacking down with the motion onto the stone floor hard enough to rattle the walls. The dragon squealed in pain (the sound muffled by Gregor's merciless grip on its snout) and tried desperately to plant its hind legs underneath itself again. Chrom and Stahl were giving it no such option though, and the pair worked with shield and pommel to further destabilise the creature. It only heightened the dragon's panic. With a hiss reminiscent of cold water on hot coals, the dragon swung its head wildly against the walls of the passageway trying to loosen the earnest parasite attached to its head or, failing that, work Gregor's grip from its jaw enough to release a torrent of fire.

It managed the latter.

"Lissa, look out!"

The oxygen seemed to forsake the room as the creature sucked in breathe, leaving the air in Lissa's lungs stale and thick with the smell of brimstone. She choked and her eyes widened. But the heat did not come. Frederick shouldered his way in front of her, carefully shoving the princess and what little of his body would fit behind the guard of his shield. Lissa's world narrowed to Frederick's armoured back and a barrage of flame either side of them. She screamed, awaiting the heat and agony that did not come.

Instead of blistering temperatures, the skin along Lissa's arms felt as though they had been dunked in ice. It was almost so cold that it felt hot. She gasped against the chill, shuddering violently as her mind blanked with the sudden exposure of freezing temperatures. Frederick grunted somewhere above her and his frame shook with the effort of keeping them both under cover. When it was finally over Frederick swayed on his feet. Lissa rushed forward to catch at the great Knight's shoulders as the huge man slumped to his knees, breathing heavily and helplessly allowing the shield to slip from his arm.

"Frederick!" she cried.

Her fingers fumbled for her staff through a combination of both cold and panic. Well, she had wanted adventure and a chance to prove herself, and she'd been given one. How could she have been such an _idiot_? This was not fun. Watching Frederick's face strained with pain and someone she had always perceived as undefeatable brought to their knees was not fun _at all_. The healing magic spluttered from her staff erratically at first, until Lissa managed to even the flow and her nerves. It took a considerable amount of effort to steady her breath and stopper the rising panic. She was here to heal, she told herself, and a healer couldn't just lose their head when someone was injured.

"He's fine!" she screamed to no one and everyone, "He's gonna be fine!"

Though (with Frederick out of action) she had no idea what she was going to do if the dragon decided to direct its ire their way again. Frederick's breathing was no longer laboured but Lissa doubted that he'd be able to withstand another frontal attack.

"Chrom! We-"Lissa's words died in her throat.

At some point between her rushing to heal Frederick and Frederick being healed, her brother had raced towards them. His face stricken, Chrom had faltered but Lissa's reassurances that their long-time guard and friend was alright had caused another look to pass over Chrom's altogether.

It was dark enough to make Lissa flinch.

She knew her brother wasn't perfect. He was one of the best men she knew but _as_ a man perfection was not a quality within in his reach. His strong sense of right and wrong, could alternatively make him bull-headed. His protective streak could pass into unmindful about the emotions of those he fought to protect. His trust could make him naïve, and Lissa knew that sometimes (though rarely now he was older) he had a tendency to snap when he frustrated with himself. But there was one fault above all others that Chrom abhorred himself for possessing. He had his father's temper. And never did it burn brighter than when he felt his friends or family were in danger.

"Alright!" Chrom roared, "_Now_ I'm angry!"

His sword hit the stone with a ringing clank, then Chrom threw himself at the dragon's head. He barrelled straight at its neck, his boots scraping against the floor as he drove its head away from Lissa with the brunt force of his shoulder. Gregor stared stunned for a moment before renewing his efforts to trap the creature's head, while Stahl rushed forward to help Lissa drag a shaky-legged Frederick away from the melee.

The dragon's screech flayed the air like the particularly foul note of a violin, jarring and cutting. Chrom growled with effort as he bludgeoned the creature with his gauntleted fist and constricted his arms around the slim stretch of neck where it met the head. Eventually the dragon wheezed, its movements growing woozy and one wind stretched out in some futile effort to escape Gregor and the prince's grasps. Then at last it slumped to the floor.

Chrom stood over its unconscious body, panting heavily.

"Chrom…"Lissa slowly crept forward, "Are you okay?"

He blinked. Chrom looked from her to the dragon then to Frederick, his shame naked on his face. A rough cough gave him the opportunity to collect himself, and by the time he had turned to face Lissa again there was a grateful albeit tired smile on his lips.

"I'm fine, Lissa, _I'm fine_," he shrugged off her concerned attentions, his voice hushed and his head bent towards hers, "Truthfully."

"Well…if you say so, Chrom," she replied and with a grin he ruffled her hair.

"Is everyone else alright?" he called out to group as a whole.

There was a round of affirmations and Chrom nodded in satisfaction, his transformation back to dauntless leader complete when he sheathed his sword into the scabbard at his hip.

"Has there been any sign of the girl, Nowi?" Chrom asked Stahl.

"….None," Stahl replied, his commiseration for having to deliver the news clear on his face, "Although, we haven't seen anything to say the dragon_ did_ get to her either. She was a small kid, she could have run and hid somewhere it couldn't get to."

"…I see," Chrom replied at length.

Lissa resisted (and only _just_ succeeded) the urge to reach out and give her brother a hug. She still had her hands full with leaning a protesting Frederick against Gregor's side, and besides…it'd feel strange. She was usually going to Chrom for some kind of support, and as much as she detested being condescended to, Chrom _was_ her bigger, stronger brother. It was the way it had always been and to just turn that kind of association on its head would take more than a single moment.

"Alright," Chrom sighed before lifting his head, voice and face set once again with determination, "Let's hurry before the beast wakes, we still have a princess to rescue!"

…

"Did you always like girls like mom?"

Morgan glanced up at his son and blinked.

This was not the type of question that Morgan had become accustomed to anticipating from Mark. In fact, from what Morgan could gather from his son's behaviour, the topics of girls (or 'girly-girls' specifically) were at once boring and bewildering. Those others of the fairer sex that favoured combat (like Kjelle and Louiza, the female half of Owain's twin children) rarely registered as girls at all; or if they did it was some faint sub-species of the gender that Mark had decreed blessedly lacking in the main branch's frivolous and confusing behaviour.

Morgan winced at the thought of Mark's future whiplash when _that_ certain outlook changed…drastically. Morgan had grown up around girls, many of his friends at that age had been girls and although he wouldn't call himself feminine, he certainly hadn't been a tough little lad's lad like Mark. Even now Mark appeared to be asking out of a practical interest rather than indulging any romantic fantasies he'd had about his parents (in the traditional sense anyway, Mark still scribbled doodles of Kjelle taking on an army of trolls bare-handed in order to reach a burning orphanage).

_Lear_, on the other hand, was putting an enormous amount of effort in trying not to look interested.

"Like your mother?" Morgan hummed, "I don't think I've ever _met_ any other girl like Kjelle."

"You must have," Mark scoffed, "You've been to loads of places."

"True," Morgan smiled, "and I still hadn't met anyone like your mother, not when she knocked me on my back and not since."

"Lady Kjelle attacked you when you met?" Lear gaped.

"Er…"Morgan chuckled, rubbing self-consciously at his neck, "Yeah, yeah she did."

Mark laughed, "Mom actually knocked him out!"

"Were you hurt?" Lear asked wide-eyed.

"No, not really," Morgan smiled and shrugged, "I'd made some off-hand comment about Ferox's structural defences compared to the ones mother and father had erected in Ylisstol, and Kjelle gave me a demonstration of why Ferox's _people_ were their structural defence. I hadn't meant anything rude by it but I didn't know anything about Ferox, if I'd studied the country a bit more I would have known that saying something like that was a great insult. Just cultural differences really."

"I…I see," Lear replied, still looking a little shocked.

Mark, however, was grinning, "When I do _have to_ marry, it's only gonna be to someone who can beat me in a fight. What about you Lear? How did your parents meet?"

"Well, I can't say it's as exciting as your story Prince Mark," Lear chuckled softly, "Mother and father met when he healed her."

"_He healed her_?" Mark echoed incredulously with one red brow raised, "What the once and then they just got married?"

"No!" Lear protected before colouring and recovering his composure with a cough, "No not the once and not necessarily curing her of 'physical' ills…it's complicated, but it didn't happen straight away. It's very difficult to explain."

"It usually is," Morgan smiled kindly and began reading again before Mark could make the young prince blush further.

…

They searched the room the dragon had appeared from. It, like the rest of the tower, was immaculately clean and elegant but also cold (and not just in terms of temperature). A few swords, spears and crooked bows lined the walls as the only source of decoration. Chrom could not help wondering if these were trophies from the dragon's previous victims.

"My Lord."

At Frederick's address Chrom glanced up, and found the Great Knight peering into a twisting staircase concealed somewhat behind a rack of swords. The wind howled through ominously, the light from those strange, blue-flamed lanterns casting contorted shadows across his friends' faces. Lissa whistled and the sound echoing back down to them.

"That looks steep," she breathed, "….and narrow. Hey Chrom, do you think we'll all fit?"

He, Stahl and Lissa shouldn't have a problem, but Gregor and Frederick…

"We'll just have to go single-file," Chrom answered, "we can't afford to not investigate where it leads. Frederick, you and Gregor may be better travelling at the rear though."

"Understood, My Lord," Frederick nodded, "We shall arrange ourselves accordingly."

Chrom ascended at the forefront of the group, Lissa glancing about herself with nervous curiosity behind him while Stahl yawned behind her. Frederick and Gregor took their places at the rear, Gregor whistling some foreign tune that, judging by his expression, Frederick did not find quite so palatable. Surprisingly it wasn't the smell of damp and old, forgotten things that reached Chrom's nose, but the same sharp peppermint that fragranced the rest of the Tower. He didn't mind it, it was actually quite refreshing even if it did give him the urge to sneeze.

The Ylissian quartet plus the Plegian captain travelled through the gloom for some time, the sound of their breath and feet echoing about them. Eventually the incline began to recede, and Chrom could just about catch glimpses of far more familiar (and warmer) candlelight ahead of them. Chrom felt a jolt of excitement wire its way through his chest and outwards. This was it. They had defeated the dragon (and the thought of how and the fury he'd felt when he'd believed Frederick to be gravely injured, still brought a sickly twinge of guilt) and there was the objective within the grasp of his fingers. He hurried up those last few steps, his party clanking behind him.

It opened out into a circular room, in which windows were once again absent. Without a doubt, it was the most personal room Chrom had seen in the Tower thus far. The severity of the stone walls and floors were alleviated substantially by collections of tapestries and rugs; each one splashed in bold tones of blues, reds, greens and golds and bedecked in complex overlapping patterns (sometimes bears or ships or stags, other times just a unending network of knots).

Three bookshelves were rammed into one corner, these carved with depictions of hunting scenes or huge longboats out at sea. Thousands of books, more than Chrom had read collectively in _all_ his twenty-two years, had been carefully squashed into every available space in the bookcases. In pride of place and at the very centre of the room, stood the largest desk Chrom had ever seen. Strewn with maps, ink pot, various bric-a-brac (feathers, pebbles, sea-smoothed pieces of glass, ships in bottles, hair pins, bolts and Gods knew what else) and a couple of children's little copper soldiers, there was not a clean inch of surface upon the desk. Still everything there had its place, the tableau of curiosities neatly ordered into their correct territories by unknown, patient hands. The sight made his lips twitch into a smile. How on earth someone managed to be so simultaneously organised _and_ messy was beyond Chrom.

And…it wasn't what Chrom had been expecting _at all_.

The fact that he had been expecting anything came as a surprise in itself. He was most definitely not the type to be caught sighing over daydreams about soft-voiced princesses with flowers wreathed in their hair. Though he had had fantasies about women (he was a young man after all) it had not been the most prevalent thought he had in mind when he'd accepted the quest. Still…from what he'd seen of the Tower thus far, he had anticipated that the princess' room (and by extension, the princess herself) would be austere, permeated with an air of that same aloofness.

"Ah," Stahl sighed contented, "I can actually feel my toes in here."

"Tell me about it," Lissa said, "the rest of the place has been_ freezing_."

Gregor chuckled, "If room was as cold as rest of Tower, Lady be little ice statue by now."

"Well I hope not," Stahl frowned mildly, "We didn't go through all that, to rescue an ice statue."

"Where _is_ she anyway?" Lissa blinked.

It was a very good question, and one no one had decided to immediately investigate after entering the pleasantly warm room. Chrom scanned about himself, pausing at the two doorways that led away from the main chamber and finally halting altogether at the sight of a four-poster bed partially obscured behind one of the bookcases. He had thought all three were pushed against the wall, but further inspection showed that in fact only one was while the other two acted as something of a divider.

Striding forward the Prince edged his way around the first bookcase. The sheets were rumpled and there cocooned within their centre was the sleeping shape of the princess. He didn't know why the thought hadn't struck him before, but suddenly Chrom felt _very_ uncomfortable.

It had just been a quest when they'd traipsed into her room, she'd just been an objective when they'd perused through her personal belongings like they were exhibits in a museum. Between the fraught boat ride and mad dash against the dragon, Chrom had forgotten a simple detail. The princess was another human being. It was decidedly harder to forget when he could see the gentle rise and fall of the ball of blankets as she slept.

"Wow…" Lissa breathed, her sudden appearance making Chrom jerk, "I didn't think she'd be sleeping."

"Maybe she's enchanted," Stahl offered, "Y'know, like those stories you hear about when you're a kid."

"Could be," Lissa chewed at her lip, "I mean if she wasn't, you'd think she would have woken up when we made all that racket. She's probably under a spell. Hey, that might be why she didn't come down before! In fact, how do we even know that the princess is the same person who healed us, no one ever saw her face!"

It was silent for a good while afterwards, none of them entirely sure what the next step should be now they'd actually reached their goal. Chrom cleared his throat and tightened his grip on his sword, feeling ill at ease.

"_Weeelll_," Lissa sang with a cat-like grin, "Go on Chrom, we haven't got all day."

"Huh?" his eyebrows shot into his hairline, "And do what?"

"You know," she teased.

"Actually, I don't," he frowned, still completely perplexed.

"You know," her grin grew broader.

Chrom shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

"Urgh. _Kiss her_," Lissa rolled her eyes, "so she wakes up!"

"What?" Chrom squawked in a pitch that he would have ordinarily been embarrassed about.

"Maybe Gregor should go instead," the man was already edging towards the bed.

"Not so fast," Frederick caught his arm, "I'm still not convinced that your motives are honest, doubly so if you plan to take advantage of a sleeping maiden."

"So you want_ me_ to take advantage of her instead?" Chrom asked incredulously.

"I have complete confidence in your sincerity, my Lord," Frederick replied in sombre tones, "Unlike _some_."

"Hey! I found some food!" Stahl called from further in the room.

"Ohhh! Where? Gimme!"

"Gregor becoming of the ticked off with bow tie Knight's mistrust."

"Perhaps if you more honourable motives, I'd have no need to be."

"Oy, oy, oy! Who says Gregor not honourable?"

"You better hurry up, big brother, before the dragon comes back. Go on, just lay one on her."

"Whoa…there's even sandwiches, and a-"

"Silence, please!" Chrom ordered.

Everyone froze and Chrom resisted the urge to massage his temples.

"Can I just have some peace for a few moments," he sighed, "Sir Stahl said there was food, and I'd appreciate it if everyone ate their fill…_.outside_."

Fortunately there was no protest as the other five filed out of the room, hamper under arm and eyes casting glances back his way. Chrom sighed, he shouldn't have shouted but….

His eyes inevitably fell on the slumbering figure again. He'd shared few kisses in his life (though nothing more than that and a hug or two), but none of those were with a total stranger and definitely not while she was _sleeping_. He gulped. This was creepy, wasn't it? Everyone else seemed to be under the impression that the act was somehow romantic, but Chrom could not see past the bizarreness of it all.

Careful not to knock into anything, Chrom knelt beside the bed and wiped his suddenly sweaty hands against his knees. The urge to bolt was powerful as he remained there hesitating. Dragons and hostile weather conditions he could deal with, but_ this_ was terrible. He felt like _such _a predator.

Chrom swallowed heavily and leaned his arm against the mattress (murmuring a 'sorry' as he did so, though Gods knew why). The only piece he could see of her in the mound of quilts was a small, smooth expanse of forehead. It was far more preferable to her lips. Emmeryn had kissed Lissa on the forehead countless times, there couldn't be anything too nefarious in the gesture. Apart from the fact that this young lady was unconscious and, he felt too large and heavy-handed and unsure to be here.

_Gods._

Shaking slightly and face burning with heat, Chrom slowly inclined his head puckered lips towards that visible piece of skin. It wrinkled slightly and Chrom froze, his heart stopping in his chest. Enchanted people couldn't-

"What are you doing?"

…..

"And there, boys," Morgan grinned as he eased the book closed, "is where I'm leaving it for tonight."

"What?" Mark scowled, "You're as bad as mom."

"Ah-ah-ah," Morgan smiled and wagged a finger, "It's late and I believe I'm already expected downstairs, so without further ado-"

Morgan stood, easing the chair back into place before giving them both a dramatic bow, "-I bid you goodnight."

"Goodnight," Lear smiled softly, "I wish you pleasant dreams."

"And you, Lear," Morgan replied, "Goodnight Marky-boy."

"Night, dad."

Morgan was not at all surprised to see Lucina waiting for him outside. He smiled; as stalwart as the young queen was she had a tendency to be predictable. And Morgan had a tendency to pick up on predictable behaviour.

The pair exchanged a smile. Lucina's serious, regal features softening as she looked him over, no doubt making a judgement about his welfare when she'd decided that blurting out such a question would seem impolite.

"How are they?" she asked with a small nod towards the now closed door.

"I'd like to say sleeping soundly," Morgan grinned, "but that's just something I'd _like _to say."

He didn't believe for a moment that the two boy's would immediately drop off to sleep the minute he eventually left the room, no Morgan suspected both had a night of story swapping, general messing about and theories on all the grand things they were to do with their lives ahead of them.

She chuckled and the expression reminded Morgan so much of her father a sudden powerful pang of homesickness washed up and over him.

"Come," Lucina turned on the stop, motioning for him to follow, "It's been a while since we saw each other."

It had, Morgan agreed, and he was incredibly glad to see her.

"So…" Mark grinned, "How's Brady?"

Lucina's cheeks bloomed bright red (even at their age) and Morgan chuckled. _Gods_, but it was good to see her again.

A/N:

This chapter is far longer than I originally anticipated -.- I tried to break it down at least three times but I just couldn't find a spot I was satisfied with cutting it from. I swear all the chapters won't be this long.

There likely is some interaction that COULD have been cut out but to me those little group interactions are what really add to a story; especially when there's so many Fire Emblem characters. On another note, Chrom may seem a little angry this chapter but cannon Chrom _does_ have a temper and to be honest that's one of the things I really like about him. Not _that_ he has a temper, but that he has flaws and despite all his outward confidence in a commanding role, there's still something a little insecure about him. It makes him a lot more human in my opinion, and one of the main reasons why he's in my top ten favourite FE: Awakening (with Gregor, of course) :)

Anyway, rambling aside here's my reviewer replies:

**The Shadows Rider:** Thank you very much for the review! Hopefully the word count on this one is still manageable XD I'm glad you enjoyed Gregor and Frederick, and hopefully Prince Lear was worth the wait although you'll have to wait till next chapter for more on the Plegian Princess.

**Radio-Blaze**: Welcome to Fanfic! I was dying for someone to get that reference XD Still don't want to say too much about the princesses or pairings (although a lot of reviewers have had me sweating with their guesses)

**Zarelyn:** Thank you for the review! And no need to worry about content, just reading that your interested is more than enough for me :)

Also thanks to everyone who's read and followed this! Feedback is very much appreciated :)


	4. The Lady of the Tower

The Lady of the Tower.

Mark was not looking his best, and it was made patently obvious to everyone within a five foot radius of him that the ten year old wasn't too happy about it either. The aesthetics of the red-head's current predicament didn't bother him in the least. No, his foul mood revolved completely around how difficult previously simple tasks had suddenly become when his arm was in a sling.

"I hate this," Mark scowled.

"I know you do," Morgan replied patiently, "But what did you think was going to happen when you decided to show Lear how to perform a standing dismount using your bed and a chair."

"I-That-Argh!" Mark huffed, face bright red and expression so frustrated that Morgan couldn't help the sympathetic wince.

Kjelle had not been best pleased…to put it mildly. And for such an active little boy who loathed being hindered by pretty much anything, Mark had not been best pleased either. Morgan, however, felt a little guilty about how much he was relishing the opportunity to baby his son again. It had been a good while since Mark had allowed his father to pamper him. Once his son had reached the age of ten, Mark had adamantly decided that he was a man now and didn't need his father to kiss his bruises better or scour underneath of his bed for monsters.

As much as he felt pride in his son's independent nature, he couldn't help mourning the loss of a time where Mark would gleefully allow him to blanket him in hugs. Morgan was an affectionate man by nature but he'd come to terms (somewhat) with the simple fact that the rest of the family was…less-so inclined.

With Mark in such a state, the boy was rather more unequipped for fending off his father's mushy displays. Which they both knew, with alternate levels of dread and elation.

"You're so adorable when you blush, Marky-boy," Morgan cooed, smoothing the red hair away from his face to press a kiss against his forehead, "Like a little, grumpy tomato."

"Dad," Mark groaned trying (and failing) to bat his father back with his one serviceable arm, "I am _not_ a tomato."

Morgan only grinned at him.

Mark sighed, "Dad, can you just read the story please?"

"Are you sure you don't want more juice, I can help you if you want?"

The look Morgan received for such a suggestion was enough to shrivel mountains.

Morgan was (unfortunately) completely unfazed, "I'm not hearing a 'no'?"

"It's a no," Mark replied sternly before grumbling, "_Definitely_ a no."

"What about your pillows? I can bring some more in, if you want?"

"They're fine, dad," Mark's tone took on a pleading edge, "Can you just read the story,_ please_?"

"Alright," Morgan agreed, looking a little crestfallen the tactician skimmed to the correct page, "….are you sure you don't want me to fluff your pillows again?"

"_Dad!"_

"Okay, okay, I'll get on with it," Morgan chuckled before clearing his throat and beginning…

…

Robin was in possession of what was perhaps, the largest headache known to man.

The intensity of her skull-splitting migraine seemed to have a direct correlation with the pitch of Nowi's bawling. Robin sighed, kneading the fingers of one hand against her forehead while the other continued to trace soothing circles into Nowi's back.

"I'm so sorry, honestly I didn't know. If I had-well, er, I didn't mean-sorry!"

It was a strange predicament Robin had found herself waking into. Strange enough for Robin to consider whether or not she'd (finally) lost it altogether. A question that she came across with an odd sort of put-out exasperation that someone might find more appropriate to discovering that they'd ran out of tea bags rather than lost their sanity. But Robin supposed that living in a tower for two years with only an overly energetic Manakete, a tenacious (and probably crazy) suitor and far less books than she _should_ have brought in hindsight, for company was likely to do that to a person.

You see, Robin had awoken to find herself face to face (quite literally) with an illusion.

Add in the dual factors that the supposed illusion happened to be very handsome and rather intent on kissing her, and Robin was quite convinced that she had succumbed to Tower Fever at last. On the other hand, figments of her imagination did not usually reel backwards the minute she addressed them, crash into one of her nearby bookcases and flounder there in a collision of bent-backed books and long armoured legs. By the time the stranger had begun apologising profusely (face scarlet and eyes determinedly flicking everywhere _but_ her face, throughout) Robin had already put her 'I've gone mad' assessment under re-evaluation.

An entire brigand of strangers had stormed her room then, led by a familiar face. Nowi had flung herself at Robin, and the Plegian princess had been hard-pressed to understand what had upset the diminutive Mankete through the sheer force of her weeping.

She cast a bewildered glance down at the top of Nowi's head, gently prying the fingers clutching at the back of her dress loose so she could wipe at the girl's face with her sleeve.

"Nowi," Robin murmured, simultaneously concerned and enduring through her headache, "Nowi, what's gotten you so worked up? Calm down and tell me what's wrong."

Nowi sniffed hugely (which made Robin a little worried about the state of the front of her dress), rubbing at her eyes with tiny fists. The Manakete managed to open her mouth twice before breaking down into great, shoulder-shaking sobs again. Robin sighed and lifted Nowi up onto her hip while the woman clutched at her neck (a marvel really, if Robin took the time to consider the utter mass of Nowi's dragon form). Nowi was at least ten times Robin's age, if not more, and yet Robin had always been the more parental one in their relationship.

It could be due to Nowi's innate child-like innocence. It could be due to that nameless quality that Robin possessed that had people instinctively relying on her; practical strangers unburdening their life stories onto her with little to no coaxing from Robin herself. But it was most likely a mixture of both, and neither woman begrudged the established status-quo of their friendship. Nowi was just thankful to have someone care for her after centuries of isolation. Robin (who was accustomed to a prior lifestyle of managing those around her) was thankful for someone to care _for _if only because it gave her some meaning in what was a rather meaningless situation. Without edging too far into the realm of pessimism; Robin was an incredibly social person and being trapped in a tower was not an ideal social environment.

Due to certain….circumstances, Robin had tried to force herself into not only accepting but _preferring _a nun-like life accompanied by a hyperactive Manakete and (far, _far_) too few books. Over the last year, when all the pacing, all the hastily burned escape attempts drawn out on parchment, all the staring morosely at walls and those few months of feeling very sorry for herself (definitely not one of Robin's finest moments); were finished she'd managed to convince herself to at least an adequate standard. Which was being spectacularly ruined by something Robin had not previously considered.

There actually_ were_ people foolhardy or crazy enough to try and rescue her.

Well the presence of the abnormally large, orange haired man was to be expected (Gregor, she recalled from a childhood at court, hailed from a small but well-reputed warrior house now sadly extinct save himself). But the others she did not recognise, by sight _or_ rumour.

"My Lady," a tall brunet stepped forward then hesitated when Nowi's bawling became louder and she squashed herself against Robin.

Robin blinked, at him then Nowi. A curious reaction….and rather telling.

No one had been able to make it past Nowi, and not many had dared try. Robin had been grateful for Nowi's invaluable services in that regard but also reassured that the Manakete's size and intimidating appearance would keep the woman herself from harm. Patching up the unconscious (despite ballads written about the trespasser's 'heroism', most she came across had ran into walls in an effort to escape Nowi's dragon form) was one thing; holding an actual conversation with real, cognitive people, however, Robin feared would be a temptation too far.

She'd locked herself here for a reason. She neither desired nor projected an urge to be rescued. And she most definitely did not relish the thought that Nowi had been injured due to such misguided attempts.

"Did you hurt Nowi?" Robin asked.

"Hurt….Nowi?" echoed the man who'd been blinking centimetres from her face when she woke, "No! I-_we_ would never hurt a child!"

"But you'd attempt to steal a kiss from a sleeping woman?" Robin raised a brow.

"I-You-That didn't-"it seemed far too much for the forehead molester whose visible skin turned a shade of red that looked completely unhealthy. And slightly painful.

He stumbled back several steps as if Robin had struck him with her hand, mouth and throat still working determinedly to form some kind of sentence. A dainty blonde girl swept into his place, planting her hands on her hips and glaring at Robin with big baby blues.

"Hey! It's not Chrom's fault! We thought you were enchanted and he was only trying to help!"

Robin frowned, "And what gave you that impression? Did you even check if I was sleeping, even bother to knock before barging into my room and attacking my friend?"

"Huh? Well, er…." The girl trailed off, left hand rubbing at her opposite shoulder while her eyes slid slowly from Robin's gaze.

"My Lady, please be assured that our actions were committed with the very best intentions," the tall brunet interjected in a deep, rumbling bass.

Robin was such a person that in most circumstances (or in other words, when she wasn't so riled up that she barely knew what to do with her hands or who to scold first) avoided conflict like a plague. The environment she grew in was rife with arguments, with backstabbing and fat pointing fingers; and as a result Robin had found any previous thirst she may have had for it well and truly quenched. She enjoyed conversation, verbal sparring to some small degree as long as it didn't toe into the realm of becoming personal, but an _argument? _No, an argument was a destructive thing that Robin had no taste for, and as a result had perfected (to some extent) the art of avoiding. A smile, a painstaking soothing of any hurt egos then the tactful disengage, and Robin had once again achieved the socially impossible. But here, there was nowhere to run nor another distraction that could cool Robin's temper until it could be safely vented.

That irritated Robin, like her headache was irritating her, like the gall of these people were irritating her and most of all, like the little egg bruise on Nowi's head was irritating her.

"Which is all well and good," Robin scowled, "But ignorance doesn't really heal Nowi does it?"

"Ignorance?" the man growled, polite expression slipping into a fierce glare.

"Oy," Gregor sighed, seating himself at her desk wearily, "here we go."

"What else would you call breaking into here without any prior knowledge?"

"I would call it, My Lady, a lack of communication on _your_ part."

"Oh, would you?" Robin snarled, "I'd thought I'd made the message loud and clear when I healed you all and _still_ decided not to speak to you."

"Perhaps telling us so _to our faces_," the man loomed taller, "would have been a more effective method."

"And that explains why you all then decided to commit trespassing on my property, grievous bodily assault to my friend, unconsented advances towards myself, and-"

"They also made a mess of some of downstairs!" Nowi added helpfully.

"-and arson!" Robin finished.

The brunet blinked down at her furious face, "….that_ is_ a rather damning list."

Another shorter, softer-faced brunet snorted, "You can say that again."

Robin sent a scalding look his way, in no mood for jokes when her blood was so high.

He cowed but hastily defended himself, "B-but we didn't attack Nowi! I swear! We were trying to save her from the dragon-"

"Nowi _is_ the dragon," Robin sighed and massaged a palm against her pounding head.

The stared open-mouthed at the diminutive woman clutching at Robin's dress and sobbing like a five year old.

"Oh," the shorter brunet said rather flatly.

"Well, how were we supposed to know _that_?" the blonde girl demanded.

"Hence my earlier statement about ignorance still stands," Robin fired back.

"My Lady, calling us ignorant is quite unfair!" the tall man thundered, "Especially when it was you who asked the child to put herself in danger."

That last comment hit. Robin sagged slightly, her mouth snapping closed and her eyes falling from them to gaze listlessly at Nowi's head. In her desperate attempt not to be selfish, had she unwittingly achieved just that? Was her mere presence here a danger to the Manakete, and had Robin for her own peace of mind chosen to turn a blind eye to that glaring fact? How could she be justifiably angry at them when the fault was equally her own? No, it was worse since the group had defeated her unaware of the human woman that lay beneath the coat of scales; while Robin had known and yet still allowed Nowi to go forth just to save herself the trouble of confronting any lure to the outside world.

She was a terrible friend. And she was still hurting people.

Sensing Robin's inner-turmoil Nowi gripped her tighter, "No! No! I go out because I want to! Robin's never, ever, EVER asked me to fight!"

"I should still know better," Robin replied in a far quieter voice than previous.

"Why? I'm older, Robin, so….urgh! Stop moping!" Nowi blew up her cheeks in frustration before whirling on the adventures, "See what you've done! Robin's gone all floppy now and it's all your fault!"

"She should not have insulted Prince Chrom and Lady Lissa," Frederick answered, completely unrepentant.

"Is she gonna be alright?" Lissa asked with concern, her earlier fury forgotten.

Robin was silent and frowning with thought, head bent and seemingly unreceptive to the world around her.

"Yeah," Nowi sighed explosively, "Give her a couple o' minutes and she'll bounce back like a tree!"

"I don't think trees are very bouncy," Stahl muttered.

"Well, I don't think your very bouncy either Mister!" Nowi jabbed a tiny finger in the Knight's face, "Now grab your weird, mumble-y prince and skedaddle!"

"Nowi was the dragon all along," Chrom continued to word, hand entrenched in his hair and face reeling between shock and mortification, "And I punched her in the face._ I punched a small girl in the face._ Then the princess wasn't asleep when I-Gods, this is terrible. I'm a monster."

"C'mon Chrom," Lissa gently turned her brother towards the door, "I think we should give the princess some time to cool down and then come back, I mean you still haven't eaten right?"

"_Punched_ her," Chrom mouthed, "right in the face."

At this, Gregor perked up for what had to be the first time in the conversation. His head jerked back from where it had been steadily drooping to drowse against his chest, and with a great rumbling like thunder the huge man cleared his throat.

"So…"Gregor began carefully, "young man finished the making of his move, yes?"

"Yes," Frederick replied suspiciously.

"Then watch how master do it," Gregor smirked.

The grin that stretched the captain's face had the Great Knight's danger senses going haywire. He did not trust Gregor, and although he had gained some _tiny_ measure of faith in the man's abilities his motivations were an entirely different story. The huge man pulled his feet from where he'd had them resting on Robin's desk and planted each boot on the floor, finally standing with a stretch.

Robin only registered his presence when he was looming over her, and even then only with a distracted flick of her eyes before continuing to muse to herself.

"Princess," Gregor's voice and expression were suddenly sombre, loud features still and eyes steady and quiet.

Robin finally turned to regard him fully, "Yes?"

"I am Gregor of the house Thorfinn. I have come for your hand," he leaned down slightly until his face and Robin's confused one were of the same height, "You would do me great honour by accepting."

Then, in a move that shocked what felt like the entire tower into silence, Gregor kissed Robin.

Robin had very little opportunity to register what was happening to her, never mind why or personal preferences, due largely to the sheer suddenness of his move. And _boldness_, considering Robin was not exactly renowned for her helplessness in combat. It was the first time she had ever been kissed by a man (a shy but curious peck with Tharja when they were thirteen hardly counted since Robin remembered it being rather quick, squishy and generally unpleasant) and the one showcasing his amorous overtures was a particularly dogged stalker. That was disappointing (a distant part of Robin's mind mused) not that she had made wedding dresses as a child but everyone invested at least a little time into imagining their first kiss.

At first, all Robin registered was the height and breadth of the body in front of her and the sudden waft of Gregor's armour cleaner, a little salty and a little sharp so like the comforting smell of the barracks back at home. Then came the largely different sensation of someone else's lips on her own. Gregor's were chapped by the ocean winds but not necessarily rough, if fact they were quite…soft in a way Robin had not expected any part of the man's face to be. And once Robin had comprehended the feeling of lips on hers, she could in fact understand that there _were_ lips on hers.

"Mmmf!" she choked.

Gregor used one huge hand to gently (surprisingly so) comb a fallen strand of hair back, and followed the motion until he was cupping the back of her head in one massive palm. She was not impressed, especially not when those lips started moving and her eyes nearly crossed with an explosive burst of panic. Robin reeled one arm back and sent it compounding just above Gregor's eye. The blow jolted his head away from hers and Robin shoved hard against his shoulders with her little hands, gulping in air as she did so.

Robin had never been so…._so_, she wasn't sure but it most definitely was _not_ pleasant and most definitely _was_ confusing! She very much wanted to be angry but she was feeling self-conscious and unsure of herself and those two latter emotions made the former shaky. She didn't like this, didn't relish the alien sensation in her stomach nor the redness in her cheeks. Robin hissed and crushed the back of her hand against her lips, eyes narrowed but darting everywhere. This wasn't fair, she'd offered these people shelter and healing and then they take advantage like this.

Gregor chuckled, "Princess blushing, then perhaps Gregor kiss not so bad."

The crack of thunder that reared out from Robin's hand ripped through their ears like torn paper. Gregor slumped back two steps, but Robin followed with an expression as thunderous as the static rippling in the room.

"Oy, oy, oy!" Gregor grinned, unintimidated, "We do it Plegian way, yes?"

"You're _finished_," Robin seethed.

She raised a hand but felt the air forcibly pull from her lungs as Gregor barrelled into her middle, knocking her against the desk and scattering bric-a-brac. An overturned inkpot rolled underneath their feet as the two Plegians struggled. Hostile flashes of lightening leaking from between Robin's fingers to crackle against Gregor's chin, and play the scene out like a shadow theatre.

The Ylissians moved to rush forward but before they could even reach the fray, Nowi slid in front of them.

"Hold ya horses!" the girl chirped, "what do you think you're doing?"

"The princess is in danger!" Chrom's eyebrows furrowed with worry, "We have to help her!"

"Nah, she's fine," Nowi waved a hand, "Besides they aren't fighting, that's a Plegian marriage proposal."

"A…"Chrom blinked, "What?"

"Yep!" Nowi grinned, "The one proposing gives them a BIG kiss, then they fight then they can accept, if they wanna!"

"But," Chrom frowned, beyond bewildered by the custom, "We're meant to be saving the princess not letting Gregor knock seven hells out of her."

"Pfff," Nowi snorted, "Trust me, he won't win."

"I dunno," Lissa drawled, "Gregor's pretty strong."

"Nah, he won't-"

"Group be hurrying now, yes? Before princess wakes up!"

Gregor, an unconscious Robin slung over his shoulder, darted in. The captain was not at his best, bruises and burns decorating most of his visible person while a pronounced limp hindered his escape. The princess murmured something groggily, long white hair brushing against the floor rugs as she electrocuted Gregor again.

"Ow!" Gregor scowled, "Princess be stopping with the lightening now! Come, leave now and use Princess' ship to escape to shore!"

"What? Wait!" Chrom gaped, "You want us to kidnap her!"

"_Rescue_ her, yes?" Gregor, "And _borrow_ the boat, now come."

"You're insane," Frederick replied staunchly, "My Lord, didn't I always voice my suspicion of this man's character-"

"_You wanna kidnap Robin_!" Nowi roared, "You can try!"

"Oy," Gregor sighed, "_Rescue_! Gregor sort technicalities later."

"I'll crush you all!" Nowi's voice grew distorted as scales rippled out from her body.

And so it was that the adventurer's _rescued _the princess and _borrowed_ her boat back to shore, while being pursued by a very upset dragon.

….

Mark snorted.

Father and son shared a look, before shaking their heads.

No words on the subject needed to be said.

…

Robin's first re-emergence into consciousness was heralded by an almighty storm of lightning bolts crashing down onto the party's heads. Her second was far more tranquil, but it did not by any means indicate that she was happy. Gregor was shuffled to his room and away from view. Drinks were ordered. Robin was pacified to the best of the party's abilities, and_ finally_ they could talk.

"You kidnapped me," Robin breathed.

The group were sitting at a circular table pushed under the stairs of the Mermaid's Purse. It was the most private seating in the establishment, but that did not necessarily say much and as a result Frederick had taken the position of Chief-shoo-away-er of the various nosier drinkers.

Chrom ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

"I can't really argue with you there," he tried for a smile.

Robin was not smiling, "then _don't_."

"Look, we had no prior intentions of kidnapping you, princess," the Ylissian prince began sincerely, "I swear it."

"Oh," Robin nodded, "So you're only _opportunistic_ kidnappers, I feel so very reassured now."

"_Gregor _kidnapped you," Lissa inputted, "Honest! We didn't know he was going to do it! We'd only met him like two days ago!"

"So…you placed your trust in a man you'd only known for two days?" Robin asked incredulously, "On what basis?"

"Well….he _had_ a boat…"Lissa sulked.

They all had the grace to look shame-faced when Robin's visible shock only grew (except Frederick who was looking rather smug, truth be told). Chrom stifled the urge to defend his earlier intuition on Gregor's character. It had been wrong, and due to that mistake his friends had suffered and the princess had been treated appallingly. He couldn't apologise enough.

It hurt to say, but she had been right. Best intentions and visions of doing his sister and country proud aside; Chrom and the others just bumbled into that Tower with no prior knowledge or consideration for the consequences. In the end, Nowi and Princess Robin had paid for it. He'd been a fool. A naïve, stubborn fool who thought he knew everything. Chrom hung his head, knowing his behaviour was only about to be made more deplorable when he asked Robin to accompany them back to Ylisstol.

"And now he has mine," Robin sighed before adding quietly, "Poor Nowi, she won't be able to fly through those winds."

"So," she pulled herself straighter as she addressed them all, "What do you intend to do about this mess?"

"Do?" Stahl asked, "Erm…"

"We will return your boat, My Lady," Frederick added gently, "I shall make it a personal mission to see that he pays for the crimes he committed against you and the insult he paid to My Lord's trust."

Chrom noted that Frederick's attitude had undergone a rather drastic change now that blame had shifted from him and Lissa, and onto Gregor (someone Frederick had never taken to anyway). In fact as soon as they were characterised as something like fellow victims, Frederick miraculously remembered that Robin was royalty too.

Still, he was faring better than Chrom. The prince felt as though the entire conversation was a test in not only his humility but patience. As a child (and at the command of their tutor) he and Lissa had played a game in which a rock was painstakingly moved closer or farther from the finishing line depending on their answers. Chrom felt as though he were once again playing that game; although with the way they had met (his previous actions included) Chrom's rock was already leagues away from any finishing point.

"Look, I…" the princess sighed, "I don't care about the boat, and although I'm still more than a little…_irritated_," Chrom got the impression 'pissed off' were the words she would have preferred to use, "it's not that important. I've had some time to breathe and think about it, and I guess Gregor was only acting in a way that I couldn't just outright ignore….even_ if_ it was some barbaric, age-old custom that even my grandparents would barely remember."

That was awfully…forgiving of her, Chrom blinked. But he supposed the weary, slightly amused but still _very much_ exasperated expression seemed to fit her face far more than the anger he'd seen at the Tower did. In all honesty, without the thunderbolts and Nowi's tears encouraging her, Princess Robin had looked somewhat awkward when enraged. Perhaps she wasn't accustomed to it, and therefore whenever it gripped her like it had she was not entirely sure what to _do_ with it.

It brought memories of Emmeryn to mind; of her little sighs and tuts and the slight sharp edge that would round her polite words like a misbehaving friend, whenever the Exalt began to lose her temper. A world away from Chrom's explosive yelling and storming, a flash of bright fury there and gone in a blink.

"Where is Gregor now?" the princess asked, and it shook Chrom from his reverie.

He opened his mouth to answer, but Lissa cut in, "he's in his room, sulking. Frederick was shouting at him for hours! Man,_ I_ even felt a little sorry for him when Frederick was done…y'know, despite everything."

"I'm just glad I wasn't in _his _shoes," Stahl whistled.

"The last scion of the House Thorfinn is…sulking in his room like a naughty child?" Robin echoed, "I, I think I may have underestimated him."

"Or just underestimated Frederick," Chrom smiled to himself.

The princess snorted into her hand, looking mildly abashed she'd done so before scrambling to gulp down her ale, hiding her frown behind her tankard as she did so. Lissa and Chrom exchanged a look, all small smiles and inside jokes. Finally satisfied, Robin gently placed her tankard back on the splintering wood and fiddled with the handle.

"So," she wet her lips, "after talking to you all; I am convinced that it's likely that you are actually well-meaning, if slightly naïve, and were misled somewhat by my countryman."

"'Somewhat' is a bit of an understatement," Stahl spoke with a sigh and a smile.

"Yes, I'm not really responsible for Gregor but I feel like I should apologise for him," the princess frowned to herself and scratched a finger against the brass handle, cheeks tinged slightly pink with humiliation by association, "So, I'm sorry. I don't think Lord Gregor meant any great ill will just he hadn't managed to get past Nowi and you confessed to needing a trip and….well, two birds and one stone in his eyes, I'm sure."

"It's forgiven," Chrom smiled, desperately not wanting to spook her again, "though there's really little to forgive."

"That is a matter of option," Frederick scowled.

"Right," she smiled open-mouthed and nodded with satisfaction, "And I forgive you for breaking into my home, attacking my friend and destroying part of the hallway-"

Chrom blanched. He (and everyone it seemed) was never going to be allowed to forget that.

"-so we're all done here," she clapped her hands and beamed, "you all seem like pleasant people, but I have to get back before nightfall. Goodbye and I wish you all luck on your journey."

"Thank you for-Wait!" Chrom froze, mid-automatically standing to accept her farewells, "What did you mean goodbye? You're leaving?"

Robin was visibly startled as she blinked owlishly back, "Well…yes."

"But, why?" Lissa pouted, "We've just rescued you! You can't just say 'tally-ho' and bugger off, that's not how it works!"

"Okay…" Robin drawled slowly, her expression hardening into wary curiosity, "Then how _does_ it work?"

"You don't know?" Stahl and Lissa exclaimed in unison.

"Well," the princess was looking more and more uncomfortable by the moment, "No one has tried to rescue me, baring Gregor of course. And, in honestly, I'd made it clear that I wasn't _to be_ rescued. I'd thought…."

She trailed off, but the words 'I'd be in the Tower forever' hung in the air as if they had a physical presence.

"Regardless," Chrom coughed to shatter the atmosphere, "We've rescued you now and it isn't usually protocol to run off afterward."

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, watching as her head slowly lifted from where she'd been frowning at her tankard again.

She looked how he imagined a princess to look, but only in physical features. There was no floating to her gait; more a stride with an odd little huddle now and then when she skirted a puddle. There was no straight back and imperious expression; Robin's body curled towards the recipient of her attention, her eyes absorbed in the book or the face or the landscape while her features moved languidly from gesture to gesture as if they had all the time in the world. She fidgeted like other humans do, she had small flakes of mud on her boots like the others did and she was still flicking at the handle of her tankard in a nervous manner that Chrom was determined not to mimic.

But she was….pleasant to look at like princesses were. Though, he'd never seen the shocking locks of pure white hair before (apparently such a colour was quite common in Plegia). She appeared delicate in the same way Lissa did, lithe and short with long, fragile fingers and only slender legs to uphold their weight. Robin was sweet-faced and creamy-skinned and had lidded nut-brown eyes; all in all very pretty as a princess was expected to be.

As lovely as his sisters at least; although Robin's heavy green cloak with bear fur trim over the purple dress was far more masculine than Lissa and Emmeryn would suit. The thought emboldened Chrom. The princess was not some far-off alien creature, in possession of supernatural beauty and knowledge that was far and beyond Chrom's comprehension. She was just a very, very pretty girl running a finger over the handle of her tankard and trying to hold back a sleepy yawn.

"So don't worry about it," Chrom smiled, "If…if you really want to go back, then we won't stop you, but-"

"We _won't_?" Lissa exclaimed, laughed sheepishly at Chrom's panicked look before adding, "Eh, ha, ha, ha that's right, we won't. Even if it'll mean trying to find another princess to rescue, then rescuing her then trying to convince her to go back to Ylisstol with us."

"_But_," Chrom soldiered on, "at least sleep on it tonight, okay? It's far too dark for you to brave those waters now and I'm sure one night won't hurt."

"I…"she was hesitating again (and what was it that had her second-guessing herself and them so often), "…I suppose one night will not hurt."

A lazy smile lifted her lips as she turned to address a watching Lissa, "_terribly."_

Lissa's grin was wide, her baby-blue eyes alight with triumph as she pumped a fist in the air, "Woo-hoo! That's what I'm talking about! Now, go on Frederick grab us some grub!"

"Finally," Stahl grinned, looking the most animated Chrom had seen him since they'd returned to the cliff-top Inn.

Lissa, meanwhile, had scrambled over the table (Chrom winced slightly at the stains appearing on her dress after that) to plonk herself beside Robin. The blonde chattered energetically, every single word and movement sparking with her glee at managing to overcome that hurdle.

"I know we might look a little scary but we're all super nice, I promise! Well…Frederick's a little strict and he needs to learn to lighten up, but he's real good people y'know?" Robin didn't get a chance to answer as Lissa barrelled, "And Stahl's such a lazy-guts-"

"I resent that," Stahl scratched at his head.

"Then do something other than yawning all the time!" Lissa grinned and bobbed out her tongue at him, "But's he's super nice too. And sitting next to you, is my big brother. In-_tro_-ducing Prince Chrom, scourge of training dummies everywhere and breaker of a certain little sister's dolls, hrm?"

Chrom looked mildly offended and a lot more confused, "You were _eight_. How do you still remember that? Actually why am I still getting blows to the head_ because_ of that?"

"Because it was mentally scarring," Lissa huffed, "and my staff hungers for retribution."

"I thought you were meant to be a healer," Chrom mumbled, pressing his palm against his mouth and looking slightly morose.

"I am! But that just means I can heal you up _after_ giving you a beating!" she blinked at Robin as if remembering the other woman were there, "We are really nice people though, honest!"

"Attacking me with a staff aside," Chrom stood to help Frederick distribute little wooden bowls and place a great pot at the centre of the table.

"Yes, attacking dunderhead brother's aside," Lissa grinned, "Hey! Pass me a bowl, would ya?"

Frederick politely complied, spooning out generous proportions to the Royal siblings first before gently handing one to Robin, and commanding his junior Knight to 'get his own'. The soup was not of the quality Chrom had become accustomed to, and barely tied with Frederick's own campsite cooking. But it was edible at least and for the gnawing pit in Chrom's stomach, that was all that could be asked. It consisted predominately of potatoes in various states of being under or over cooked; though any cooked to the correct standards were mysteriously absent. The broth itself was watery and tasteless, peppered here and there by chunks of fish that broke apart in Chrom's mouth like a loose handful of cloth. Devouring the thing was thirsty work for it, so the time spent filling their bellies was also spent in silence.

Lissa (predictably) managed to guzzle down her serving first, waving Frederick off with a queasy expression when he offered seconds.

"_So_," Lissa knocked a shoulder against a still chewing Robin's, "do _you _have any siblings? Just we didn't see anyone else in the Tower, y'know beside you and Nowi of course."

The group looked with varying levels of curiosity (and stuff-cheeked in Chrom's case).

Robin swallowed her mouthful (with great difficultly), "No, no siblings. I have a cousin of similar age though."

"A-ha! We _don't _have any cousins, isn't that a coincidence, right Chrom?"

"Is it?" Chrom frowned, thoroughly confused as to where Lissa was going.

"Yes, Chrom. Yes it is," she pouted at him.

Robin threw a questioning look over Lissa's head but Chrom could only shrug. Whatever game Lissa was playing, he was ignorant to. Although a chill lacing along his spine told him that perhaps he would be better off _not_ knowing.

"Were you and your cousin close?" Stahl asked, unobtrusively steering the conversation on track again.

"I suppose so," Robin smiled to herself, "Although he's always had an odd sense of humour. As children, I once found him using my finger paints to summon dark Gods that would take the souls of our nannies."

Robin laughed to herself and shook her head, while the Ylissians exchanged horrified glances.

"Er…." Lissa gulped, "That's…sweet…kind of, I guess. How old was he?"

"About ten," Robin replied.

The silence that followed was almost painful, only made more so by Robin's apparent confusion at their reception of her childhood tale. In a country where a forced kiss and a fist-fit constituted as a marriage proposal; Chrom supposed that childhood ritual summoning of malevolent forces likely weren't too out of the ordinary either. Or maybe it was purely the people Robin attracted? After all her companion in the tower had been a young girl with an aversion to sensible clothes and the capability to turn into a dragon; her suitor had been crazed captain with aspirations of regaining nobility and a habit of literally shouting down bad weather; and apparently her cousin had been something of an…unusual child.

Chrom glanced at her again.

Robin _seemed _completely normal. Maybe it had something to do with Plegian cuisine?

"Well," she spoke as she rose, "Night will be falling soon, I suppose I had best book a room."

"Huh?" Lissa blinked, "Why? Just share one with us."

The panic that rippled across the princess' face was public for a moment before she could delicately fence the expression in again. Chrom frowned, surely even in the most prudish of households sharing a room would not cause such dread. It was more likely that the Plegian princess had not forgiven them as much as she had professed.

"No! No, that's…alright," she glanced nervously back towards the bar, "Thank you…for the offer, though."

The smile Robin levelled at Lissa would have the world believing that nothing was wrong, "It is very kind of you but I _really_ need my own room."

"Why?" Lissa asked innocently.

"Skin conditions! Foul, skin conditions. I suffer from them," Robin scrambled, "_Badly_. It's disgusting, my skin comes up like an aubergine, completely unsightly. And very contagious-"

The princess' hurried refusal was halted by the presence of two large hands landing on her shoulders, as she backed away from Lissa as if the younger woman were brandishing a blade. Frederick and Chrom tensed at the emergence of Gregor, both watching intently as Robin lifted her head back and the two Plegians regarded one another. Gregor was looking far more sober, that devil-may-care attitude now tentatively respectful in presence of the princess but no less confident. It reminded Chrom of Frederick's attitude when the older man attempted coaxing the more stubborn creatures in the Royal stables; a comparison Chrom was sure he'd be scolded for if anyone knew he'd thought it.

"Princess have Gregor's room, Gregor share with Bow Tie Knight," the huge man offered.

Robin's glare grew to scathing degrees and she held it there until Gregor had the grace to rumble something apologetic and self-debasing, head hung in shame.

"I thought you were sulking," Robin sighed. The relief of everyone (but mostly Gregor) was palpable as her rounded shoulders relaxed back, and her regard towards the giant man changed from arch-nemesis to frequently embarrassing friend.

"Oy, oy, oy, Gregor not sulk," Chrom could have sworn the man was pouting, "Gregor only…rallying troops, yes?"

"Just don't send your 'troops' marching in my direction again," Robin shook her head and smiled, "Alright, Gregor?"

"Hrm," he grinned and bobbed his head in one empathic nod.

Robin blinked as the man thrust one hand at her gut, "We friends, princess?"

Robin's eyes narrowed, one hand on the splintered banister and her white hair curtaining down her back, "Thank you for the room, but I'm still keeping my eyes on you Gregor."

She turned, muttering to herself, "I doubt this'll be the very last I hear of becoming 'Miss Gregor Thorfinn'."

Robin's footsteps ascended and the party stood or sat alternatively until at last the quiet easing of a door, heralded the princess' departure from the company. Gregor turned, rubbing at the back of his head and an uneasy smile curling his lips.

He nodded as if to convince himself, "Gregor and princess, friends."

Chrom was not entirely convinced. And judging by their expressions, neither was anyone else.

….

Morgan glanced up, expecting the statutory barrage of questions or grumblings about time/plot/enthusiasm devoted to his favourite tale, and found…nothing.

Or at least, nothing he had come to anticipate in regards to Mark and bedtime stories.

Instead the red-head was in fact blissfully asleep, little head thrown back over the great lump of pillows Morgan had collected for him and mouth slightly agape. His injured arm was stiffly held away from his body, as if the impractical limb was an affront to the ten year old even in sleep; while the rest of his limbs tangled themselves in the blankets. Morgan grinned.

"Seeing that healer must have worn him out more than he'd let on," the tactician murmured to himself, painstakingly unravelling the blanket from between his son's legs so he could cover him more sufficiently. It wouldn't do for Mark to get a cold as well, if that were the case even Sully might think twice before challenging Mark over cough medicine and bed rest.

With one eye on his slumbering boy, Morgan eased himself up and silently slid the book onto Mark's bedside table. Ink-stained hands smoothed back the spikey locks falling into his son's closed eyes, watching with equal parts fascination and affection as the wafer-thin skin of Mark's eyelids fluttered in his sleep.

"Night Mark," Morgan whispered, pressing a kiss against his son's forehead.

He blew out the candle and quietly departed before the smoke could even curl.

**A/N:**

**Much shorter chapter, and not a great deal happens for which I apologise; BUT I do have my reasons. I've been quarantined to my bedroom under the influence of the dreaded lergy and as a result had to break out my back-up chapter ****L**

**Robin's entrance nonetheless, although we only see her interact mostly with Gregor (which to me makes sense she's most familiar with him at this point) and I promise she won't be as short-tempered in later chapters XD Robin's always an interesting character, because every writer (and everyone whose played FE: Awakening, I guess, by extension) adds different layers to the basic qualities the game gives you. Hopefully, you'll like my Robin which I based on how I imagined her in my 2****nd**** play through, although I haven't given you a lot to judge her by at this point ^_^**

**Reviewer replies:**

**Radio-Blaze****: Thank you very much for your review! I cannot tell you how much I enjoy putting Chrom in embarrassing situations :P I swear the young prince just brings out the sadistic side in me and yeah Nowi being the classic 'fire-breathing dragon' was one of the first things I wanted to include when debating whether or not to write this, Chrom's subsequent freak-out about attacking little girl/fire-breathing dragon included, for afore-mentioned reasons XD**

**Sparks101: ****Thank you very much for your review, seriously it put a huge smile on my face all day! Whenever anyone says anything about my writing, I swear my brain short-circuits a bit from happiness :D**

**Aqua Sole: ****Thank you very much for your review, very high praise indeed! I'm so pleased you picked up on dialogue and different character traits since that's something I really try to focus on (for me a story is largely driven by its characters, and therefore it's a main focus whenever I try to write). As for Queen Sully, she's a princess at this stage (although Chrom's party are yet to meet her) so she'll become Queen regardless of who she marries, but I have to admit trying to sneak in information with the Morgan and Mark scenes without giving anything away is far more difficult than I imagined especially when I'm not as sneaky as I previously thought I was XD**

**Thank you also to everyone whose read, favourited and followed this story!**


	5. Ricken the Great and Powerful

Ricken, the Great and Powerful.

"_You're_ late!"

Morgan winced, not even three steps through the door and already he was being assailed by accusations. As was to be expected, Morgan supposed, you didn't keep people like his son and his wife waiting and not expect all due repercussions.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! The matter on Livestock Taxes went _way _over the allotted time," Morgan blustered to his seat.

He almost tripped over himself on three separate occasions as he simultaneously grinned pacifyingly, juggled his cargo under his arms and tried to nudge the padded chair into position with only the tip of his left foot. Mark did not look impressed by either his excuses_ or_ his acrobatics.

"I had to eat mom's cooking," the red-head grumbled in a voice that made it absolutely clear that there could be no worthy justification for making him suffer such an ordeal.

"Which is why…" Morgan shuffled some more before beaming in triumph as he materialised the little sack that had been wedged in the crook of his arm, "…I nabbed you some leftovers."

"_Palace_ leftovers, right?" Mark asked sceptically.

"Of course," Morgan smiled, "…Just don't tell your mother, she'll think I'm undermining her cooking."

"You _are _undermining her cooking," Mark managed through a mouthful of pilfered pastries.

"Ah, yeah….but only for the sake of our survival," Morgan rubbed at his neck sheepishly.

Mark only snorted in response, little grasping fingers scooping out slices of herbed chicken, pork cubes on skewers and miniature pies stained with dried gravy, by the handful. Morgan darted out and snatched a strip of chicken, winking at his son's scowl of protest as he tossed the morsel into his awaiting mouth. It was dry (but much of that could be blamed on the journey from palace to home spent in a sack tucked into Morgan's cloak), woody, little bursts of pepper breaking in Morgan's nose and the savoury aftertaste of the herbs lingering in the back of his throat.

Staunch and often incorrectly spiced (though Morgan wouldn't dare tell his wife and mother-in-law _that_) Feroxi food had taken some getting used to. Those first two months of adjustment, Morgan had wondered almost daily how many dishes the Feroxi chiefs could drown in gravy. After two months he had stopped wondering and accepted that the answer was: as many as they humanly could. He'd acquired something of a taste for the cuisine now (even if their old friends sometimes laughed at the way he and Kjelle would serve even their desserts garnished in gravy) but Lucina's recent visit had given Morgan a hankering for the food of his homeland that no amount of roast boar and gravy pie, or mutton and gravy jerky could ease.

Would Mark even recognise the taste that Morgan associated with his own childhood? His son was Feroxi through and through, which made complete sense considering but still…Morgan wished Mark could cherish as many ties to his fraternal homeland as he did Kjelle's. Perhaps it was time the tactician took up his second cousin up on that offer to visit. Inigo's daughter and Mark were not so different in age that conversation was impossible. Although considering their opposing interests getting them to talk wouldn't be the issue; getting them to stop baiting one another could, however, prove a challenge.

Kjelle was good friends with the girl's mother and they still wrote to one another. As Inigo's father and Robin had been cousins, Morgan had been fairly close to Inigo as a child (not as close as he had been with Lucina, Owain and Cynthia of course, but still close) and more than that, didn't Morgan and his family deserve a rest period by now? The fact that that break just _happened_ to be in his mother's homeland was a happy coincidence.

"Dad…"Mark started warily, "You're doing that smile that mom always says you do before you do something stupid…."

"Hrm?" Morgan blinked then smiled, "I'm not up to anything….just thinking of planning a little holiday."

"Uh-huh," Mark raised a brow.

His father only grinned and ruffled his hair, "Now! Let's have a look at where we left off…"

…..

Robin was in the process of apologising for the state of her room when she caught sight of her would-be rescuers. It was not an ideal time, especially because the bar staff didn't seem particularly interested in anything never mind her apology or the destruction. Which had made Robin's apology a far more arduous task because it meant Robin was stuck there until the message had been conveyed to what had to be_ the_ most apathetic barmaid Robin had ever met.

This was not ideal for a number of reasons.

The first being, she had been caught in what was (in her opinion) a comprising position. Many a question could be raised such as 'why are you trying to force that woman to take your coin?', 'why is your room destroyed?' and 'what is that strange contraption on your head?' The answers to all Robin would much rather not address (except for the last, being in possession of a night cap _was _embarrassing but it was a mystery Robin could part with at least).

The second being, she was not entirely sure of her standing with the other adventurers. Gregor had made his opinion of her (or her title at least, but Robin couldn't really begrudge him for that when _she_ had listed his house name foremost and the human behind it after) very much clear…a little _too_ clear, in all honesty. Although these Ylissians had been nothing but courteous and companionable the night previous; sadly that in truth may have little bearing on their true regard for her. Robin's father had taught her very few lessons, but those he had taken the time to educate to her had been powerful and long-lasting. One such lesson was that what people 'say' and what people 'do' and what people 'mean' are three _very_ different entities. Not always through the use of deception, sometimes a person's own true motives or opinions can be hidden even from themselves. It was all very well being confident in her abilities and the presence of at least one ally in Gregor; but Robin was still unsure of the character of those around her and therefore their potential.

The final reason being, she simply did not know what to say.

It was a far more mundane predicament (and rather unusual for her), but that did not mean it made her stomach knot any less than the previous two. Two years of isolation had had its effects on her after all. And although part of Robin wanted to throw herself into company and conversation, another part had no notion of what to do and how she had ever managed it before. Especially when she was on such shaky ground with these newcomers; that little irritable ball from the abuse they'd put Nowi through remaining lodged in her chest warred against their obvious regret and confusion the night before. If she was to judge merely by their actions and stricken expressions, then the party did desperately want to make amends. Robin was just unsure of how successful they would be when they were so full of fire and she was so full of uncertainty.

"Is everything alright with your room?"

Robin's breath caught in her throat, momentarily panicked from her musings by the sudden presence of a disembodied voice. Or not so sudden, considering the man's descent down the stairs had triggered her own descent in self-doubt anyway.

The face was square-jawed and strong-featured. Youth and a boyish quality around his eyes softened it from possessing the rugged quality of Gregor's, making it cleaner and more striking. The flash of the morning sun against his one disproportionately larger shoulder guard made the shabby surroundings of the Inn that much more impressive for a moment; before the rummy haze sank back in and the man's cape became just a piece of cloth, the determined set of his gaze just another display of childish confidence and the sunlight as bleak as it had always been struggling through unwashed windows. Robin was not a pessimistic person (the Inn just truly_ was_ that filthy) but she couldn't remember any previous lapses into spontaneous romanticism either, nor did she usually jump out of her skin when someone addressed her. Which she must have been quite blatant about because the man's (_Chrom's_-she mentally corrected) friendly smile had begun to waver slightly.

By Grima, she couldn't remember _ever _being such a skittish creature!

"Your room?" Chrom nudged, "Er, was it not…alright?"

"Oh!" Robin bustled to flash him a reassuring smile, "No, no, it was lovely, thank you. I just knocked over some furniture, long limbs and small spaces do not mix well."

Chrom suddenly laughed, the noise seeming far too loud in the drowsy early morning, "Oh, trust me, I know that feeling _very_ well."

The Ylissian continued to chuckle to himself until, sensing the oncoming silence, it became strained and slowly dwindled down altogether. It was quiet then, leaking from the peeling ceiling came the snoring of men who had spent months at sea or the night drinking until it felt as though they could belong in the former category. A lone boy (scrawny and dressed in ratty clothing and a petulant scowl) scrubbed angrily at table tops with a cloth whose better days appeared to be centuries behind it. A scraggy moggy with bitten ears and patches of knotted fur watched the boy's progress, flicking her tail with lethargic humour when the boy kicked or barged his way past the chairs neglected from the night before. Robin could feel the Inn sleeping around her. It was an odd sensation; only she and the Ylissian caught around in the early morning like children whose parents were suddenly reunited long-lost friends, neither sure what to do but feeling it impolite to just escape.

Chrom cleared his throat self-consciously and Robin had the overpowering urge to say something. She didn't know him well enough to be sharing the quiet (not like she and her cousin could, her reading and him giggling to himself as he made a mess of her tresses; or even her and Tharja when the obsessive noble could be persuaded to just sit quietly).

"So…" Robin began, blinking when the prince turned to face her with such attention that his relief at the broken silence was tangible, "Am I the first?"

"The first?" the prince echoed, brows pulled together with confusion.

"The first princess," Robin replied, "That you've set out to rescue? Judging from your armour you're Ylissian and Plegia is a neighbouring country, so I'd assumed that I was the first."

"Oh!" he breathed, "Oh, right! Yes, you are the first we've set out to rescue…though hopefully we'll do better with the next ones."

Robin and Chrom laughed though it was definitely too strained. 'This is awkward,' Robin sighed as they fell into silence again, 'where's the bar maid disappeared to? I'm sure she was here a second ago.'

"So-"

"You-"

Another awkward laugh as the two managed to speak over one another. Chrom graciously offered for her to go first with a slight tilt of his head and an approachable (if slightly stiff) smile.

"….Lissa is your younger sister, right?" Robin asked.

From what she remembered on her studies of their Ylissian neighbours, hunting was a favourite pastime, they artistically expressed themselves through carpentry and 'family, duty, honour' were three prime principles in their culture. Robin had been on longboats while they speared down horned whales or grappled with sea serpents, but she'd never been hunting before. She enjoyed wood carvings, but her tastes were more devoted to the weave of tapestries or the ink scenes painted between the pages of her books. But family, she could talk about or more specifically Chrom's family. Find a common ground; that was key to most interactions and could hopefully make this one less strained.

Chrom's face and shoulders relaxed in a way that Robin was half-tempted to congratulate themselves (both her and Chrom) for, "Yes, Lissa is my younger sister. I'm the middle child of three. Emmeryn, that's my older sister, is ruling Queen of Ylisse and thankfully has far more patience than both Lissa and me put together. Not to say Lissa is troublesome-"he was quick to correct, "-she's brilliant, well she_ can_ be a handful but honestly I think you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone with a bigger heart in all of Ylisse."

"I'm sure Frederick would tell you that you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone who can cause a bigger mischief too," he chuckled, easing his elbows onto the bar as he relaxed into the topic more, "Sure, she's small but I wouldn't let that fool you…unless you want to wake up with custard in your shoes or all the furniture nailed to the walls of course."

"Lissa?" Robin's eyebrow quirked, as did one corner of her mouth, "the sweet, little blonde girl with the pigtails? Are you sure?"

"_Absolutely_," he grinned, "See, that's exactly what she wants you to think. But she's my younger sister, and concussions and frogs in my underclothes aside…I wouldn't change her."

"And I take it Queen Emmeryn doesn't have the same penchant for custard-boat shoes?" Robin drawled.

"Emmeryn? Gods, no!" Chrom laughed, "I don't think she'd have the heart to even loosen a salt-shaker never mind pull off a Lissa-sized scheme."

"Oh," Robin smiled, "So Lissa's even a form of measurement in pranking now? I thought you said you were all very innocent and well-meaning?"

"Huh?" Chrom panicked, "We are! I swear it, none of us….oh, you're joking?"

"Trying to," Robin shrugged.

"Ah…ha, ha, ha," the last ended in a sigh as Chrom pulled a hand through his hair and rested it against the back of his head, rubbing at the skin of his neck and determinedly looking anywhere that wasn't Robin.

It seemed her earlier congratulations were short-lived as the pair lapsed into silence again. Chrom was obviously far more self-conscious about his decisions than Robin had previously attributed, if the mention of the earlier incident could make the young prince fall into a guilty hush again. He'd seemed so rash and resolute, that Robin had not at all predicted the residue uneasiness he had in his decisions. A man of action then, but also of susceptible conscience.

Had that been something completely unforeseeable or was she was rusty? It was hard to determine when she knew none of this man's cues. She suddenly had no idea what to do with her hands again. After a night of debating, Robin had come to the decision that she would at least try to join them on their quest (if to prevent any more incidents like her own 'rescuing' at least) until she was no longer capable. In that silence and early morning fragility, she was no longer sure of any of her decisions.

"They should be down any minute," Chrom spoke abruptly before elaborating, "The others, I mean. The others should be down any minute."

"Right," Robin nodded, knowing that that was the opportunity to open up conversation again and watching it pass while she stood ineffectually.

What had it been that had made conversation so easy before? Robin scoured through her mind, replaying scene after scene as she hunted down that one detail or instruction she had clearly missed. She couldn't blame it solely on Chrom, she'd received countless strangers at the Plegian Castle and never had she been so rigid. Had she simply…_lost_ that ability in her two year's absence? The very thought sent a fresh wave of panic slipping between Robin's shoulder blades like warm sweat. This had been something she'd _relished_ before. She'd swam in rivers of new people; entrenched herself in breathing stories (**people**, each with different faces and different opinions, and each with different tales to tell) darting between them all like a hummingbird at petal heads. Simply _being around people_ had been such a large part of herself that the idea of it just being…_gone_ it terrified her.

The thought brought Robin to a realisation. It wasn't something she was lacking, it was something she needed to loose. She needed to shake off this new urge to control the world about her brought on by anxiety. When what she _really _needed to do was just let it be, allowing the situation to take its course and rely on her instincts honed by years of social activity to nudge her in the right direction.

Robin took a breath and allowed the tightness to bleed out on the exhale like so much bad air.

"This is awkward," Robin sighed, flashing the prince a more sincere smile.

He blinked before easing into a sigh that easily contested her own, "It is, I've been trying-"he stopped himself, Robin nodded softly for him to continue and after one last unsure glance in her direction, he did so, "Don't laugh but I've been trying to remember what I used to write on this little prompt cards I'd keep tucked up my sleeve whenever there was an Ylisstol Ball."

Robin didn't laugh. Though the mental image of Chrom desperately trying to sneak a peek at scraps of parchment stuffed into his wrist cuffs in-between each dance, did make the effort more difficult. Especially because the image was accompanied by him frantically mumbling the answers under his breath like a child before a session with his least favourite tutor.

"I mean…I'm not sure what the 'standard' thing to do here would be. Do I keep up the formal speech or would you find that offensive, if I treat you like a fellow companion is that an insult or is treating you like you're made of glass incorrect?" he ragged a hand through his hair and Robin watched the frustration mount on his features, "I just…I just don't know what I should be doing. I thought I knew when we were in the Tower, but it turned out that I'd gotten that all wrong too. And…."he suddenly glanced at her and smiled, "_And _I probably shouldn't be telling you all this, right?"

"Probably not," Robin shrugged, "But I'd already worked out that you were new to this before," mercifully she decided not to mention the specifics of when and how, least he start beating himself up over it again, "And I don't really have a frame of reference…besides Gregor."

Robin laughed, "So there's that at least, you're doing better than Gregor."

"Well, _that_ is reassuring," Chrom grinned and chuckled to himself.

"So, you aren't sure what you're doing," Robin shrugged and smiled encouragingly at him, "It's not that big of a deal, how many of these rescuers do you think pull it off perfectly on their first attempt? And besides there's five more princesses out there, you'll just have to work harder to get those ones out without any…_hiccups_."

Chrom looked caught somewhere between gratitude, amusement and disbelief as he slowly replied, "You sound very much like Emmeryn trying to reassure a small child."

Robin chuckled, "I think that says more of you than it does of me."

Chrom grinned and raised a brow, "is that so?"

"Oy, morning!" a loud voice announced from above their heads, "Princess and young man be waking like the birds, yes?"

Robin and Chrom tilted their heads back to regard Gregor's upside down grin beaming from above, "Princess think any more on Gregor proposal?"

Robin sighed and tried to hastily flag down the bar staff again.

"Is that no?" Gregor asked with genuine confusion.

Neither decided to answer, believing the answer was obvious.

Robin was finally able to accost a more receptive member of staff minutes later, explaining to the elderly lady that she was perfectly willing to pay for any damages caused to the room and apologising profusely about said damages. The old woman just sighed the sigh of someone who dealt with such inconveniences on a daily basis. That attended to, the young princess finally went about her morning routine and decided to hunt down the other adventurers before they sought her out. It was all very well explaining why the furniture was torn to shreds to an old woman who didn't seem particularly interested in hearing even Robin's half-truths. Trying to feed such to Frederick, Robin predicted, would be a very different story.

She found Gregor leaning against the wall outside her door as she departed.

The man was once again in a sombre mood, watching her face carefully and towering in the stifling hallway. She'd been anticipating this of course, though she hadn't expected Gregor to make his move so quickly (which in hindsight was a bit foolish of her considering this _was _Gregor). He'd covered for her last night without hesitation, an act that the huge man would not be so swift to commit to if he didn't know at least part of her situation. Any outward antics (blaring attitude and nonchalant regard for his own safety) aside, Gregor was no fool.

"You not be telling young Princeling and others, yes?" he asked in their native tongue and Robin switched accordingly.

"No, I don't think we know them well enough for that. There's no way of knowing exactly how they'll react and I think it's best that it didn't make the rounds of the Ylissian Court," Robin did not make eye-contact as she answered, busying herself with the locking the Inn room door instead.

"Hrmm," Gregor rumbled as he rubbed a hand across his jaw, "Gregor think that smart thing to do…but not sure others will appreciate dishonesty, yes?"

"I'm not _lying_ to them," Robin frowned, "I'm just…not telling them everything. Why? Do you trust them?"

He suddenly grinned and Robin got the unnerving impression that she'd somehow mis-stepped, "Princess be wanting Gregor's opinion?"

Robin chuckled and shook her head, "Princess be _asking_ the opinion of the only person here that she knows."

He threw his head back in a belly-laugh, "Oy, you sharp with the tongue today! Gregor thinking Princess like him more than she lets on, hrmm?"

"Gregor," Robin sighed, "has anyone told you you're delusional?"

"Yes," he frowned pensively, "People be saying such an odd thing to Gregor often. Especially Bow Tie Knight. Ah, which reminds Gregor, young Princeling and his Knights are preparing horses."

Robin felt a momentary shiver of panic, "Horses?"

Gregor frowned and nodded, "Ylissians so happy with their horses, yes? Not understand superiority of sea travel…"

He paused as he finally noticed Robin beginning to pale. Gregor sighed hugely, levelling an indulgent smile in the Plegian princess' direction as he clapped one huge hand on her shoulder. She didn't so much as flinch, and Gregor had to wonder how any man could favour those silent, fragile Ladies over the robust nobles of his homeland.

"Not to worry, princess, Gregor keep secret and perhaps they let us share horse, yes? So Gregor can stop when Princess is making with the throwing up."

"Thank you Gregor," Robin smiled, still looking slightly nauseous, "For your loyalty, not the throwing up thing. That was slightly disgusting."

Gregor gave another grin and patted her shoulder once, before the two Plegians made their way down the stairs (every step groaning under Gregor's weight) and joined their temporary comrades in the early morning air. The wind had mellowed slightly at daybreak, though any presence of sunshine was yet to be seen, the skies just as bleak and dramatic as they had been the night before, hanging with pregnant menace over choppy seas. The Ylissians and their mounts looked particularly buffeted against the backdrop of sheer cliff-face and sparse vegetation. While Robin and Gregor, more native to such hostile weathers, appeared completely unaffected by comparison.

Lissa rushed over immediately when the Plegians exited the Mermaid's Purse (a stern-faced Frederick acting as a wind guard at her side).

"So, are you coming with us then, Robin?" Lissa exclaimed excitedly, "C'mon! You _have_ to!"

Robin glanced up to find that the attention of all the Ylissians was resting solely on her, Stahl regarding her lazily from the other side of his saddle and with arms folding across his mount's back while Chrom glanced up from where he'd been tightening a chestnut mare's girth.

"Please, please, please, _please_?" Lissa practically bounced up into Robin's face.

"Wow!" Robin pulled her head back and laughed, "Alright, alright."

"YES!" Lissa flung a fist in the air, "You will not regret this! This is going to be awesome! I mean boys are okay but there's finally another girl! You better get ready for the sisterhood Robin because it's coming whether you like it or not!"

She chuckled as Lissa continued her victory dance, "Well, after that mildly threatening announcement, I wanted to ask about travelling arrangements and the next princess you had in mind?"

"Of course, My Lady," Frederick intoned with a respectful nod, "We currently have four horses in our party though a fifth can be purchased at the next town for your benefit, the second princess on our agenda is a Princess Maribelle of Themis."

"….Princess Maribelle," Robin echoed, scouring her brain for every crumb of information she'd netted on her over the years.

"You know her?" this was Chrom, striding forward with reins in one hand and the other wrapped around the hilt of his sword; looking every bit the Prince despite (or maybe, aide by) the high winds snagging at his cape.

"Kind of," Robin smiled lop-sidedly, "By reputation, anyway. She's renowned for her humanitarian efforts….and her perfectionist nature."

Chrom sighed, "Why do I get the feeling that by saying 'perfectionist nature', you're putting it mildly."

"At least this time, you know what you're up against," Robin shrugged.

"What do you mean by that, My Lady?" Frederick's expression was gravely serious but still unfailingly polite.

"Well, Princess Maribelle has been 'up for rescue' so to speak for a good number of years now," Robin continued, "and she isn't guarded by any creature or locked away somewhere difficult to get to, she just has certain…trials that she demands her prospective rescuers go through to sort the wheat from the chaff. At least if we fail the only thing we'll hurt is our pride."

Chrom still didn't look very soothed by the prospect, "what kind of trials?"

"Etiquette, judge of good taste and character, those kind of things," Robin sent him a sympathetic smile when his expression fell.

"_Great_," Chrom groaned.

"The woman's devoted her life to charity, surely she can't be _too _sadistic," Robin laughed, "But I guess, there's always the option to find another-"

"No," Chrom cut her off, his head lifting from where he'd been rubbing at his eyelids to reveal a more determined expression, "No, it's not _ideal _but we can do this. You say she hasn't been rescued in years, well we'll be the first to rescue her. That, I swear."

Robin blinked, "….Erm, right."

He flashed her a smile, all earlier doubt forgotten (or hidden, or temporarily ignored, it was just too hard to tell when she did not rightly know him). The surge of confidence suddenly rendering him almost unrecognisable from the man who had seemed too big for his skin not hours before at the bar.

"Now, speaking of not ideal we've already spoken and Lissa is more than willing to share a saddle with you, Princess Robin. If that's alright?"

Robin waved him off good-naturedly, "Yeah, yeah that's absolutely fine. Thank you and I'll be sure to thank Lissa too."

He nodded and smiled, "Well, let's get underway."

….

"Dad?"

"Yes, Marky-boy?" Morgan gently closed the book, one finger resting against the spine to keep their page marked.

Mark scowled as Morgan dropped his head to grace his son with a grin. He could already feel his cheeks itching with that familiar burn, pre-emptive embarrassment at the reaction Morgan would have at his question. Mark loved his father dearly but sometimes he wondered if Morgan_ had_ be so…cringe-y.

"Y'know…"he coughed, "Y'know when you share a saddle with someone?"

"Have you been out riding with a girl?" Morgan chirped, already excited.

"No!" Mark huffed, glaring at the bed sheets, "The only girl that doesn't squeal when riding is Lou and she's not really a girl, kinda like a boy in disguise."

Morgan nodding sagely, fully aware that Owain's twin children Tristian 'Tris' and the tomboyish Louiza 'Lou' were somewhat like Mark's partners in crime. The only child the red-head was closer to was Lear but an age difference and a strange uneasiness about where they stood with one another on the grounds of their station kept the pair from charging around on horseback and play-fighting in the mud like Mark would with the twins.

"No…I just meant, well,_ if_ you share a saddle with someone does it mean you…_like_ them?"

Morgan opened his mouth to ask 'why' but a sharp glare and irritable growl from Mark made it clear that such a question would not be appreciated.

"No, not necessarily. It can mean that, of course, but it doesn't have to," Morgan answered.

"So…so Princess Lissa isn't, y'know, showing an interest in Grandma Robin?"

Morgan's eyes widened and he burst into guffaws.

"Dad! Don't laugh! Mom said you only share a saddle with a girl you like and-Stop it! Argh,_ Dad_!"  
>"Sorry, sorry," Morgan choked between laughter.<p>

"Whatever," Mark griped, face vermillion as he crossed his arms and glared at the wall, "Just get back to the story, would you?"

Morgan finally managed to suffocate his laughter until it was only noticeable in the occasional shaking of his shoulders; only then did he feel it was safe to return to the tale.

…

They had been riding for more than an hour before the trees began to fill out, and the ground beneath their feet became far more forgiving of their trespassing. By then, Lissa had come to the conclusion that either: a) Robin wanted to very slowly kill by gradually crushing her ribs, b) Robin was terrified of being on horseback, or c) she was just one of those 'hugging people' and had taken a particular shine to the Ylissian princess.

Now, Lissa didn't really _want_ to say anything but Lissa being Lissa she did, eventually, _end up_ saying something.

"Can't-"Lissa gasped, "-breathe!"

"Sorry," Robin's arms shot away from Lissa's waist but a yelp signified that without the anchor, Robin's already precarious balance was compromised.

"Watch out!" Lissa grabbed at the fur collar of the woman's cloak, indelicately hoisting the other princess up behind her again with an unladylike grunt.

"Grima's malevolent undergarments," Robin whispered shakily, "Thank you."

"It's no problem," Lissa winked (or tried to) at her passenger, "Plus it's kinda nice to be saving _someone else _to be honest."

Lissa lapsed into silence, the only sound the rhythmic thud of their horses' hooves as they broke the backs of ferns. Lissa bit at her lip. Jeez, look at herself; Robin had only agreed to join them today after that _whole_, stinking mess at the Tower and already Lissa was acting like a spoilt little girl. The woman was uneasy on horseback and all Lissa could do was whinge about how _hard_ it was for her being a princess. Robin probably thought she was a stupid, little girl too wrapped up in being ungrateful about liberties that others would sell their souls for. Lissa wanted to be taken seriously, wanted to do her part like everyone else and all she'd managed thus far was consistently making either an idiot of herself or_ more _work than was originally needed.

"Well, to be honest I appreciate it."

Lissa spun in the saddle so fast that Robin yelped again and desperately tried to anchor the younger woman in place.

"Huh? You _appreciate_ it?" Lissa echoed, "All I did was stop you from falling on your butt."

"Yeah, well," the other woman's tone was more rueful, "I might be able to shoot a fistful of lightning at someone, but I've never really ridden a horse before. Clinging onto anyone else would have been quite embarrassing, and you haven't laughed at me. At least I hope it wasn't me you were laughing at."

"Hah!" Lissa grinned, "I didn't think about it like that!_ So_, I really helped you out then? Cause sometimes in Ylisstol they'd say you were helping when they really just wanted to keep you out the way, y'know?"

"Sort of," Robin mused, "They'd usually just try to keep me busy with copying maps."

"Urgh!" Lissa screwed up her nose, "Don't remind me! This one tutor-"

Lissa found the ride rather pleasant after that. The temperature had warmed considerably, and although the heat had a tendency to become sticky and they'd have to squint their eyes through the occasional swarm of midges; Lissa felt better for the sunshine. The deeper they travelled the higher the trees became, until the trunks were as thick as towers and rose so far above Lissa's head she could no longer discern individual branches. A healthy canopy of leaves up there in the boughs of the massive trees turned the forest below it a muted shade of green; odd little halos of pure sunlight raining down here and there to illuminate pollens caught in the air. As noisy as they were, the group rarely saw the wildlife besides the occasional bushy-tailed squirrel or indifferent hog. Lissa took pride in shouting out these creatures to Robin who had only seen illustrations in books. Perhaps all those mind-numbing lessons were worth it for something after all.

Two hours of travelling was more than enough time (Lissa thought) to come up with an opinion of someone.

And Lissa liked Robin.

Sure, she wasn't exactly best friends with the woman (she barely knew her) but she fully believed that she'd gained an impression of the Plegian at least. Soothing. If Robin could be summed up in one word, it would without a doubt be soothing. Being in the company of Robin was a peculiar but not disagreeable sensation; it felt like a bubble of calm had quite suddenly enveloped you where your worries or insecurities were smoothed clean like so many wrinkles on a tablecloth. And it was just so hard _not _to let it ease you, not to unburden your problems or enthuse about wildflowers and stupid anecdotes she'd scourged up about this certain tree or that freshwater root.

It was hard_ not_ to like Robin.

When you spoke to her,_ you_ were the centre of her focus and everything you said or everything you did caused some form of attentive reaction in the woman. Being around Robin made you feel good about yourself, and that was the simple truth of it. Lissa wished _she_ were half as good stuff like that. Sure, people liked her but it was always as the little sister tag-a-long. Robin could laugh at a joke while still retaining the image of royalty. And Lissa had no idea _how_ she was doing.

This she told to both Stahl and Chrom when the group made break for lunch, and Frederick went to show Robin how to adjust the saddle so she was more comfortable (Gregor, who'd shared Frederick's goliath mount, lounging near them and trying Frederick's already waning patience).

"Opinions, then?" Stahl drawled, plonking himself on a small knot of springy grass and pressing an apple to his lips.

"I like her," Lissa smiled and nodded, "She seems nice, and she's not all stuck-up and stuff."

"She seems okay but," Stahl shrugged, "I still think it's a little too early to call."

Lissa swatted at him, "You're just being paranoid! Plus she agreed to help, right? So she can't be all bad."  
>"She seems to have a good heart," Chrom nodded, "And…I'm not sure why but I just get the feeling that we can trust her."<p>

"Gods," Stahl groaned and flopped back, dislodging a cloud of flower petals and dandelion heads, "_Where_ have we heard that before?"

Chrom coloured and Lissa had to muffle her snicker into her palm.

"Yeah!" she grinned at Stahl, "Gregor turned-"

"Quiet!"

Lissa scowled furiously. Sure she was loud and not the most subtle person in the world to boot, but that didn't mean Chrom could go around shushing her just because _he_ was embarrassed!

"Hey! What's the-"

"No, hush," Chrom crouched slightly, the tone Lissa had thought was irritation revealing itself to actually be caution, "….can you hear that?"

Lissa snapped her jaw shut and cocked an ear. Stahl lifting himself up to rest his elbows against his knees and allow his arms to dangle down. Across from them, now both preparing a small campfire Robin and Frederick had paused in their activities, a question in their whispered exchange.

"Sounds like…"Stahl frowned with concentration, "Sounds like….popping?"

"Yeah!" Lissa nodded, "Like I dunno, that noise you make with your mouth when you blow your cheeks up like a fish."

"That's it," Stahl smiled before proceeding to preform that very same action.

A second, louder pop echoed back at him, rippling out around them as if they were at the centre of some unseen circle. Chrom's eyes flashed to Frederick's, the Great Knight rising swiftly to his feet as the duo arranged themselves in defensive positions. Stahl hoisted himself to his feet and shot Lissa an apologetic smile as he ushered the princess behind his back. It seemed the Plegians were not to be outdone either, Gregor idly twirling his sword in his grip with a keen grin while Robin stood with a necklace of lightening threaded between her fingers. Lissa unslung her staff from the grip on her back as one minor defiance, sidling closer to Robin who seemed the least likely to hold her back _should_ something happen.

She almost immediately lost her grip on said staff as a voice boomed around the clearing.

"YOU THERE! IMPOSTERS! YOU DARE TO TRESPASS ON THE KINGDOM OF THEMIS?!"

"Trespass?" Frederick frowned contemptuously.

"We are perfectly within our rights to journey these lands!" Chrom called, "If you have issue, perhaps you should come out and tell us instead of hiding in the bushes like some craven!"

"C-Craven!" the voice exclaimed in rage, as previously mentioned bushes began to tremble.

Out popped the largest (and most battered) Wizard's hat, Lissa had ever seen. Underneath that sat a head of brown hair and underneath _that_ sat the face of a young boy screwed up in anger. He would have been quite adorable if he wasn't clenching his fists and resisting the urge to stamp a foot. Despite all his rage, with his baby-face and the over-sized hat flopping about everywhere, the boy looked more comical than anything.

Lissa snorted, slapping her hands over her mouth to halt the burst of laughter. Robin coughed politely, her lips twitching under her first. Gregor was not so considerate.

"Hah!" the big man bellowed, "is only little boy in big goofy hat!"

"Don't you dare laugh!" the boy shrieked, shaking a fist at them and face almost purple with fury, "I am the Great and Powerful Ricken and I WILL NOT be condescended to by intruders and thieves!"

"Hey!" Chrom frowned, "Who are you calling thieves!"

"And who are you calling kid!" Ricken fired back, "I might not be as old as you, but that doesn't mean you get to disrespect me!"

"Gregor was the one who called you a kid," Stahl pointed out.

"Little mage _is_ kid," Gregor shrugged unapologetically, "Gregor only call it like he sees it."

"Kid, huh?" Ricken fumed, "Would a 'kid' be able to kidnap such a mighty warrior?"

The boy swept back to reveal an unconscious body, the man heavily armoured in cream coloured plate and his face obscured by a helmet designed to mimic a swan. Lying among the ferns and wildflowers while complemented by the melody of bird song, the unconscious knight looked as though he had emerged straight from a painting. Ricken was looking exceedingly proud of himself as the adventures strode forward to inspect his captured warrior; that is until Chrom levelled a disapproving frown his way.

"You bewitched this man?" the prince questioned.

"I did!" Ricken attempted to bolster his confidence again, "For trespassing in _my_ forest and trying to hunt _my_ game! Just because my family manor has fallen to ruin and I can't pay to have it all fenced off anymore, doesn't mean these lands have stopped belonging to my family;_ we_ were the defence against strangers like you, trying to invade Themis. I'm sick of strangers stomping all over my home and thinking that we can't do anything about it!"

"So you…cast a spell on him," Chrom frowned, "Instead of just explaining that, you've kept him trapped here in an enchanted sleep. What if he has family looking for him?"

"Erm…"Ricken nervously took a step back.

"This is some complicated work," Robin mused from where she'd knelt to examine the stranger, "And risky. If you'd mispronounced even _one _word, the incantation could have proven fatal."

"He could have killed him?!" Lissa leapt forward.

"It would seem so, My Lady," Frederick intoned strictly.

"I-I…trespassers and thieves…"Ricken struggled, now backtracking at an increasing pace.

Chrom loomed over him, frowning as though he'd known the boy his entire life and he had just disappointed him personally, "I'm not about to attack a boy, but you're actions go too far. You will have to learn your lesson."

"Learn my lesson?" Ricken squeaked (internally damning himself for the untimely re-emergence of his breaking voice).

"Oh, yes," Stahl smiled, "To make sure you _never_ to do it again."

"Me and Robin will work on waking this guy up while…_The Great and Powerful Ricken_ learns to suffer the consequences of his actions," Lissa added darkly.

All three Ylissians traded wicked looks with one another before shifting their gaze to Frederick, who was gearing himself up for the lecture of a life time. The Great Knight smiled faintly at the young mage. Ricken (understandably) gulped.

Robin paled, Gregor winced (probably remembering his own experience under the judgmental might of Frederick) and Lissa couldn't help feeling a little bad when Ricken was near tears by the end of it. Not that she (or anyone else for that matter) had had much opportunity to peek at the proceedings; she and Robin preoccupied with trying to undo the work Ricken's enchantment had done while the rest set about preparing camp for the midday meal.

Lissa hadn't been able to do much in either respect, ignorant on how to start a fire without the aid of an already lit torch and having to merely stabilise the sleeping warrior while Robin carefully untangled the threads of prior magic. They'd tried to work his helmet off on three occasions (twice gently and the last with more tugging than necessary when Lissa began to lose her patience) and all three attempts had ended with unfavourable results. It wasn't until the warrior had stopped that eerie barely-there breath, and slid into a more natural sleep that Lissa could finally get to business. Stop snagging on how useless she was and how little she compared to Robin, and just direct the entirety of her attention towards the care of her patient._ Lissa_ didn't matter in those moments as anything but a pair of gentle hands.

"There, his breathing is stable and there's no sign of a temperature. No internal issues or damage, besides some light bruising on his ribs, but otherwise the guy's an image of perfect health! 'Course it'd help if-"Lissa paused when she sensed Robin's wide-eyed regard on her, "-…what?"

Robin blinked, "What? Oh, er, nothing you just seemed so….professional."

"Are you trying to say I act like a little kid the rest of the time?" Lissa huffed, planting her knuckles on her hips.

"No! No, not at all, just you're usually so cheery, well what I've seen of you so far anyway. Honestly you've been like a 'pick me up' and I just didn't expect to see you looking so serious," Robin soothed.

Lissa felt the anger whoosh out of her body in one dumbfounded exhale. What was she meant to reply to_ that _with? She wasn't even sure how she felt about the compliment never mind whether it deserved a 'thank you' or a vehement refusal.

Fortunately Lissa was sparred having to say anything on the matter at all, as a soft sigh sounded behind her.

"He's fine. Thank the Gods," Ricken breathed.

"No thanks to _you_," Lissa rounded on him, hauling herself to her feet and shaking a fist in his pale face, "What was the big idea messing with magic like that, huh? You coulda really hurt the guy!"

"Whoa, Lissa," Robin chuckled, sliding in-between them, "I'm sure Ricken's learnt his lesson and he's sorry for what he's done."

The young mage certainly _looked_ sorry. All that earlier bravado had fled leaving the boy to bit nervously at his lip, eyes downcast and hands balling up the edges of his hat. If she squinted, Lissa could almost swear there were tears in the corners of his eyes. Frederick must have done a real number on him. Despite Ricken's attempts to look as macho as his small stature would permit, the boy was fooling no one. Out of kindness Robin ignored Ricken's cough to rid himself of the watery waver in his voice. Out of empathy perhaps, Lissa did the same.

"…I am," he muttered, "Sorry, that is. I didn't know that the spell was dangerous, and…I should have," Ricken then turned to Lissa with a scathing glare, "there! Happy?"

"Nope!" Lissa bobbed her tongue out.

"Do you know who he is?" Robin injected, swiftly leading the conversation before it plunged into an argument, "Or how to get his helmet off at least?"

Being referred to (or put in a positon of consultant, no matter how small) seemed to spur Ricken into a sudden invested enthusiasm, rather than his prickly and overly sensitive former behaviour. He hurried round to crouch beside Robin and conducted himself in a business-like manner, jamming his hat back onto his head as he did so. It left Lissa slightly stunned, how quickly the boy had shifted between moods. _Although_…she'd often been accused of the very same thing.

"No, it seems to be charmed," Ricken explained, "I'm guessing runes carved onto the interior, but that's just a guess. I've tried to reverse the effects but whoever put them in place was a master. Archmage level at least!"

"They'd have to be of high birth to _afford _anything like that, then," Robin mused.

"Exactly!" Ricken nodded eagerly, his huge hat bobbing about on his head like a demented children's toy, "And that paired with the tell-tale axe he was lugging around, and the cream amour…well, there's only one person in the whole of Themis with a description like _that_."

Robin and Lissa blinked at him blankly.

"…Sir Libra? Sir Libra as in Sir Libra the Gentle, Princess Maribelle's personal guard and the King's most trusted Knight?" Ricken gaped at them, utterly scandalised, "C'mon! How have you not heard of Sir Libra! He took on 50 men single-handed_ and_ he was victorious against the Ogre of the Iron Hills! He's the strongest man in Themis!"

"And…you managed to take him out with a _sleep spell_?" Lissa's tone was flabbergasted.

"No, you don't understand, I-"Ricken paused, visibly turning that realisation over in his head, when he spoke again he sounded awed, "….I did, didn't I? _I did do that_!"

"Let's not forget that you could have killed him in the process," Robin carefully added.

"But _still_!" Ricken enthused, "The strongest man in Themis, and_ I_ managed to take him down in one spell! No one has the right to ever call me a 'weak and useless kid' _ever _again!"

"How did you manage to take him down?" Lissa asked.

"Oh…"Ricken suddenly looked sheepish, "Well, Sir Libra isn't as…ferocious as he used to be. Hence the moniker."

"Why do I get the feeling Sir Libra 'the Gentle' didn't put up much of a struggle," Robin said with dry bemusement.

"He just stood there really…._but still_!" Ricken coloured as Lissa snorted, "….To be honest I thought you'd all recognise him by sight, hopefully I'd be a bit more intimidating with an unconscious legend at my feet."

"Wait, didn't you say that this Sir Libra was-_is_ the personal guard of Princess Maribelle?" Robin suddenly asked.

"Well…yeah, the reason he was trespassing was because he was searching for something she'd apparently left here," Ricken replied.

Robin smiled, "So, if we were to return her beloved Knight to her, she'd have to see us for courtesy's sake if nothing else?"

"Oh yeah!" Lissa grinned, "Good thinking, Robin! Welp, he should be up and about tomorrow so we can head off the moment Sir Lester the Gastric-"

"Sir Libra the Gentle," Ricken corrected irritably.

"-opens his eyes! Wait here a sec, I gotta go tell Chrom!" and with that Lissa popped to her feet and flew off in search of her older brother.

The young woman was oblivious to the scowl Ricken was aiming at her back, and just as blind to the raised eyebrow he then levelled in Robin's direction.

The Plegian princess' smile was placating, "They all seem like very nice people, honestly. Even if I've only known them a day and our introduction was…less than ideal. But they _seem_ sane, at least."

"Yeah," Ricken sighed, "No offense, but I'm not entirely convinced."

Robin held her tongue about how strange that cynicism sounded when coming from a boy who'd attacked a (famously) non-violent traveller with a spell he did not understand, and went about declaring himself 'Ricken the Great and Powerful'. Some people (Robin decided with a fond sort of exasperation) just did not recognise hypocrisy. Or _most _people perhaps, when she took into account her own forays into things she did not truly comprehend.

She glanced back to where Chrom and Lissa were enthusing about this fortunate turn, where Frederick's face eased into something almost resembling relaxation as he tended to an infant fire and set about preparing camp until the unconscious Sir Libra awoke, and where Gregor laughed loudly and patted a heavy hand against the back of an amicable Sir Stahl. What she knew of these people would barely fill a page, still Robin had trusted herself to their company. And yet…that hadn't been her upmost concern when she'd decided to join them, when it_ should _have been.

It had _been _a concern, but not a pressing one and definitely not one that Robin had regarded as the most prominent. The Plegian could (and was often) accused of having a rather laid-back character, but foolish wasn't a trait often attributed to her. Lazy at times (or unconcerned when others felt she should be) and a little too dependent on the presence of others; a serial offender for being too self-sacrificing, prone to some acts of passive-aggression and utterly guilty of a love for certain luxuries that made a magpie of her (of course she could make do if company demanded it but that didn't stop her from staring at them longingly). But never stupid. Not Robin. She was not _permitted_ to be stupid.

But what else could her leap of faith be accounted to?

"I suppose so," Robin finally answered Ricken, her voice soft and deep in thought.

She wasn't sure if it was the best or worst decision of her life; but looking at it from a clinical perspective, it most definitely wasn't the wisest. And still, Robin could not find it within herself to be too worried about that.

….

"Was Sir Libra the strongest?" Mark asked without preamble.

Morgan took the time to slid the book onto the bedside table and meticulously swipe what crumbs he could see littering Mark's comforter into his waiting hand. The tactician sprinkled the crumbs onto the floor (therefore rendering his 'cleaning' pointless, much to Kjelle's future chagrin) before turning to give his son his undivided attention.

"Well, it depends on what you mean by strongest, Marky-boy."

The red-head rolled his eyes, "_I know,_ but this time I don't mean 'the strength of his heart' or something. Just, like, if there was a fight who'd do you think would win."

"Out of?" Morgan smile and raised a brow.

"Hrm…you and Sir Libra, who'd win?"

Morgan chuckled sheepishly, "Wow, isn't it getting a little late, shouldn't-"

"Alright," Mark frowned, "Mom and Sir Libra, who'd win?"

"Your mother," Morgan answered without hesitation.

Mark nodded once decisively, as if there had never been any doubt (with Mark and Morgan, it was highly likely that there hadn't been).

"Alright, Sir Libra and Grandma Robin?"

"I don't think they'd fight," Morgan edged, blinking somewhat at the interest lingering under his son's characteristically curt tone, "Neither of them are the type to go looking for a brawl or-"

"Grandma Robin and you, then?"

Morgan laughed, "Why would we-"

"Young Robin versus Young Chrom?"

"Mark, you seriously need to-"

"Young Chrom versus Sir Libra?"

"Mark-"

"What about, Young Chrom _and _Young Robin versus Young Gregor _and_ mom? On horseback? With spears? And magic? And Falchion, I guess?"

"Mark!" Morgan managed through a potent mixture of amusement and frustration, "No one is about to attack anyone. Especially not my mother taking a sword to-"

"I don't want them to_ really_ fight," Mark scowled like he'd just ingested something particularly sour, "I just wanna know who _would_ win."

His father sighed, "And I want a certain little ten year old to go to sleep. Preferably _before_ his mother comes up to see what all the noise was about."

Mark allowed himself to be tucked in, he permitted (just barely) the obligatory hair ruffle and forehead kiss with the smallest scowl he could stomach. He did not ask about his father's somewhat distracted behaviour, as Morgan wished him pleasant dreams and did not make mention of the thoughtful expression that ghosted across his face as he lingered in the doorway. No, Mark was far too preoccupied with mentally tallying which previous heroes would triumph against which. His mother came out of every bout victorious, as did his grandparents on both sides bar a few matchups that Mark could not allow to end in their favour for sensibilities sake. He didn't want to seem impartial after all.

Morgan, meanwhile, was putting all his years of tactical knowledge to use devising a method of convincing Kjelle that a trip to Plegia was something they all desperately needed.

**A/N:**

**I'm beginning to think that attempting to reign in my word count is a futile effort -_- Oh well, better that there's more to read than just three paragraphs per chapter, I suppose. More on Robin in this chapter, who I am anxious about (trying to make sure she isn't a Mary Sue but trying to avoid making her incredibly boring while performing the former). Next chapter, Morgan and family are off to visit their Plegian relatives and Chrom and company are off to rescue Princess Maribelle (though whether or not that goes better than their first attempt, I'll leave to your imaginations…until next Monday anyway)**

**Reviewer Replies:**

**Zarelyn: ****Thank you very much for the review! There is a reason for Robin's reluctance to leave the Tower, as she further spoken about in this chapter, which only Gregor at the moment knows about. I can't imagine it staying that way forever with Frederick the Wary in the party though ;)**

**Radio-Blaze: ****Thank you very much for the review, and wow what a review XD I definitely appreciate the compliment (even if I don't strictly agree) but the part about character development was a real confidence boost to me. I really want a lot of these characters to grow as the story goes, but always get overly anxious about changing the characters to the point of being unrecognisable. So, all in all, thank you for the reassurance!**

**Sparks101: ****Thank you very much for the review; it's nice getting a review of any kind but doubly so when it's positive. I love that you're enjoying the interaction between Gregor and Robin :] As I mentioned before, Gregor's one of my favourite characters probably because he reminds me of those uncles that turn up every now and then for Christmas Dinner and pat your back too hard or is that just my uncle…**

**Thank you also to everyone who has favourited, followed and read this!**


	6. Sir Libra the Gentle

Sir Libra the Gentle.

If there was ever devised a contest for sickeningly adoring fathers, Inigo and Morgan would (without even a _shadow _of a doubt) be the two fore-runners for the title of champion. This was also known by both men; who under any other circumstances would perhaps not be the most competitive of males. Overt displays of their talents were_ usually _only to be performed in pursuit of a smile (be it a pretty young maiden's in Inigo's case, or his parents' in Morgan's).

But this particular contest was a matter of personal pride.

Much to the mortification of the children who were being showered in (slightly over-bearing and _very _embarrassing) affection.

"We have to stop them," Mark announced with a finality more suited to a general accepting a vital but suicidal mission.

Charu sighed, flicking her pale blonde hair elegantly over one shoulder and drumming her little fingers against her chair, "Of course, _that_ goes without saying my dear. The question, however, remains _how_ do we stop them?"

Ordinarily Charu and Mark would not participate in a conversation so civil. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and the sudden rivalry of their father's had made the ten year olds very desperate indeed. Besides, Mark allowed, Charu was…better at these sort of matter…_slightly_. Her aptitude for them however was one of the many reasons the pair did not get on.

Where Mark was forthright and even somewhat aggressive in his approach; Charu utilised clever, pretty words, twisting a situation into her desired shape. Mark was steel; prone to embarrassment and being stubborn beyond reason, yes, but determined and honest. Charu was proficient in the art of courtly 'games' her _true_ impression like fog, ever alluding her current companion. 'Being a sly snake' had been the words Mark used, until Morgan had explained that Charu's smiles were her armour, her double-edged compliments her sword and her reasons just as noble as Lear's. Charu wanted to protect her family, it was no fault of the girl's that the battlefields of Plegia were fought through rumour and Dark Magic.

Still…although Mark couldn't outright dislike the girl after such an explanation, he'd never found himself capable of liking her either. With her blonde fringe covering one eye, flawless but remote beauty, and the thousands of interweaving designs sewn into the heavy fabrics she draped herself in; Charu may as well have been an alien to Mark. She had her father's looks, her mother's colouring and the collective cunning of all her predecessors. None of which the hardy Feroxi prince felt familiar with.

He was also pretty sure Charu thought he was tactless and stunk of horse. Unfortunately Mark's lack of 'refinement' meant he failed to see how the latter complaint was an issue.

"I mean father's affections are certainly welcomed," Charu continued, "but to make the displays so…_public_. I'm quite sure I'll be unable to show my face at the Market for another week, until my reputation can be repaired."

Mark didn't even go to the Plegian market on a regular basis, but he was pretty sure he was _never _showing up there again.

"Don't you agree, my dear?" Charu smiled at him with cherub-like innocence.

Mark knew her well enough to be wary of actually irrefutably agreeing with anything she said. Such things could be transformed into weapons for Charu's already bloated arsenal.

"I guess," Mark muttered, scowling at the walls.

Why did she need so many hanging tapestries and wardrobes anyway? What space wasn't festooned in slashes of brightly coloured weave or an armoire threatening to overspill had been commandeered by a bed that could house ten adults with room to spare. How Charu had justified needing a bed that was nearly larger than Mark's entire room, he did not know. But he supposed neither of Charu's parents had put up much resistance to their little girl's request.

"You're being awfully uncooperative, Prince Mark," Charu's tone was teasing, "I have no intention of biting, I assure you."

"I ain't too sure 'bout that," Mark huffed, turning resolutely away from her.

"Come now," she laughed, "have you made your opinion based on vile rumours you've heard about me? I'm not nearly as poisonous as they make out, my dear, not to my own anyway."

Mark turned one curious eye in her direction, his arms still locked over his chest and the scowl he'd been wearing since they arrived now almost permanently etched into his face. When Charu's smile widened, he flushed bright red and turned his back to her again with such speed his head was nothing but a red blur.

"Dad will be here in a minute to read the story," Mark said gruffly, "We'll ask them to give it a rest then. In the meantime; don't start using any of your sneaky girl tactics, Charu. I'm serious! I'll be keeping an eye on you."

Charu's look of faux affront and innocence was spoiled by the amusement flickering in her dark eyes.

"Why Prince Mark," she gasped, hand on her heart, "I planned nothing of the sort…though, if my tactics are so 'sneaky' it begs the question as to_ how _exactly you intend to keep an eye on them."

Mark frowned at her intensely for a moment before sighing, "Gods, I don't get girls."

"And you never will," Charu smiled primly, "Best you accept it now, my dear, and save yourself years of later frustrations."

Mark only blinked blankly.

A fanfare of noise alerted the pair to their fathers' presence before the doors were even flung open. Charu's smile was suddenly so _child-like_ that Mark was forced to blink again. Every curl of the girl's lips thus far had been teasing, sly and measured exactly for its desired purpose. But when Prince Inigo entered the door he barely managed five steps before his daughter had launched herself at his waist.

"Daddy!"

"Whoa there, sweetheart," he laughed, reaching down to pull her up into a hug, "You almost knocked me over, and it wouldn't do to ruin _both_ our pretty faces would it now?"

Charu giggled (actually _giggled, _Mark gaped disbelievingly), snuggling into her father's embrace. Prince Inigo shot Morgan a triumphant smirk over his daughter's head. The message was clearly received as Morgan frowns minutely before kneeling down and throwing his arms open.

"C'mon then Marky-boy! Don't you want to give daddy a hug too?" Morgan's smiled.

"Not really," Mark answered bluntly.

Morgan deflated while Inigo and Charu snickered with one another like two little conspirators.

"And how's my little angel today, hmm?" Inigo shifted his daughter to rest on one hip, his arms wrapped gently about her and his face turned to return her beaming smile, "Playing nice with Prince Mark, are we?"

She sighed hugely, "I am _so _glad you're here, daddy."

"What ten year old calls their dad 'daddy' anymore, anyway," Mark muttered loudly.

Charu and Inigo blushed in unison, and Mark decided that the little Plegian heir was not as untouchable as her teasing jabs would have her appear. Not in this anyway. They looked like a commercial impression of what every perfect father and daughter _should_ look like. Both preened and beautiful, their adoration close and sickly-sweet. But that doesn't make it any less real.

There could be no one on this planet capable of denying that Inigo and his daughter mean the world to one another.

Still…Morgan smiled and winked at his son, the pair might not be as demonstrative (or _Mark_ might not be as demonstrative) but that didn't mean they didn't have each other's backs like Inigo and Charu did.

"Ignore him, dearest," Mark had never seen a grown man pout until Prince Inigo of Plegia rushed to comfort his ten year old daughter, "they're all unapologetic brutes in Ferox."

"…Bit racist," Morgan mumbled as Mark flushed with anger, "Now! We'd best get this chapter read before everyone dozes off for the night."

The quartet shuffled about until comfortable, the lack of chairs forcing them all to descend onto Charu's ridiculously huge (and plush, Mark added grudgingly) bed. The Plegians cuddled up among the nest pillows, in their element and making sweet little comments about how blessed they are with having such an adorable family. Morgan perched at the end of the bed, opened the book and resisted making a fuss as Mark solidly sat himself beside his father, leaning against one another in a more muted display of affection.

"Alright you ready…_dearest," _Morgan cooed, shooting a mildly teasing look back at Inigo.

Mark and Morgan subtly high-fived one another before his son was urging him to 'get to the reading already'…

…

Frederick found the Plegians suspicious.

That would come as no great surprise to anyone who knew the man, but Frederick was quite certain that this misgiving was not some instinctive precaution that Prince Chrom could easily shrug off. He had _reason _to be suspicious of the Plegians. In fact, Frederick had been_ cataloguing_ his reasons.

The first was Gregor. Simply saying 'Gregor' was enough in Frederick's mind, the connotations attached to that name painfully obvious to anyone with half a brain who'd had the misfortune of enduring the Captain's company.

The second was the circumstances upon which the travelling party had met both Gregor and Princess Robin. The first, far too coincidental in his mind. Lady Robin had offered a suggestion that Gregor had merely taken an opportunity to extort coin for an act he would have likely repeated anyway. Frederick, however, found swallowing that _they_ had 'just happened' to be the ones footing such an endeavour dubious in the least. The princess' situation (or former situation, he mentally corrected) was riddled with unanswered questions that Frederick frankly did not relish sitting on. A 'princess in distress' was often placed there with the intention of being 'rescued' (such as this Princess of Themis), and therefore had some guardian overseeing the ordeal at least (usually a parent, but there had been cases of Treasurers or Court Mages holding the positon). Lady Robin had no such person. Nor did she have a culprit had she been in _actual_ need of rescue (less common, but definitely not unheard of). The Plegian Princess had simply been there. The notion irritated Frederick like a pulled back muscle, remerging with a twinge of irritation every time he flexed the thought in his head.

The third and final cause for Frederick's scepticism was Princess Robin herself. He didn't think the young woman malicious, per say. He was not entirely comfortable with how quickly she had managed to earn herself the trust of Lady Lissa; but he could not sense that this was done with the aim to harm the Ylissian Princess. Lady Lissa professed, of course, that she did not completely trust the woman 'straight away' but Frederick knew her well enough to know otherwise. Both the Prince and Princess of Ylisse had a tendency to easily place their faith in others, through pity or compassion or even a shared interest all sense could be hastily thrown to the wind as the pair opened their arms wide to practical strangers. It was a trait that gave Frederick more than his share of headaches, and one both of his wards denied vehemently (claiming _he_ was just being pessimistic and overly paranoid).

At least Lord Chrom was slightly more anxious about Robin's presence than his younger sister; though for reasons Frederick did not approve of.

"What do you think they're laughing about?" the young Prince murmured.

Stahl lazily glanced over to where the two women are chattering, or Lady Lissa was chattering and Lady Robin continues slicing tomatoes and nodding attentively. The men were gathered in a circle near the campfire, Gregor sharpening his sword with a whetstone and humming some foreign tune in his great rumbling voice, Chrom watching his little sister with a small smile and Stahl stretched out in the long grass, shifting to poke lethargically at the fire every now and then. Frederick kept an eye on the proceedings as he so often did, paying particular attention to where Ricken cast longing looks at the group and mumbled to himself. The boy was no real harm, over keen to prove himself but without any true meanness to him.

"Girl stuff probably," Stahl drawled in reply to Chrom's question, "it might as well to another language to us poor, ignorant males."

Lissa's snorting laughter echoed around the camp, joined by Robin's giggling as the pair shuffled around the unconscious knight again. It had already been two days and still the knight had not awoken. They had been reassured that Lady Lissa and Robin had done all they could and it was simply a matter of waiting for the man to join the waking world again. Frederick was somewhat grateful for the lull, it gave him chance to better assess the dangers about him. Prince Chrom, however, was already growing restless. And unfortunately _that_ was listed among Frederick's 'potential dangers'.

"I don't think Lissa talks about girl stuff," Chrom frowned slightly with thought, "she's never really been the giggly fainting type."

"Around you maybe," Stahl shrugged, "But I had a load of female cousins, and I can guarantee it's a whole different kettle of fish when girls get together. It's like they have a hive mind or something…."

Stahl trailed off and Frederick used the opportunity to send the younger man a scolding glance. The quest had pulled Sir Stahl higher in Frederick's regard, as despite the young man's nonchalant nature he'd proven himself serious about his duty towards Ylisse and its heirs at least. But still, he forgot his place. Being a friend to Lord Chrom and Lady Lissa was important, but Frederick was firm with his belief that as Knights and protectors they never forget that _they _were merely Knights. He and Stahl may eaten with the royals, may have slept in the same tent and huddled around the same campfire at night; but they were not equals. The lives of their wards will _always _come before their own and it was vital that Stahl never forgot that truth.

"….My lord," the younger knight added belatedly.

Frederick nodded, satisfied.

Chrom is silent for a moment before pushing to his feet with sudden determination, "I'm going to go join them."

Frederick stood too and followed at the prince's back, as was his place.

"Ask them when dinner's going to be ready!" Stahl called after them.

Frederick and Chrom's approach was purposeful as they strode towards the young women, but they lingered uncertainly as they drew closer. This, if anything, was one of the many things that causes concern in Frederick about Lady Robin's presence. Prince Chrom was not a man to hesitate. The very fact that it was his nature to rush in with his heart, heedless to his head, had caused Frederick no end of worry. And yet…there is something about the white-haired princess that made his ward uneasy in his skin. Lord Chrom's own apprehension is not something Frederick can defend against, and that bristled at the Great Knight more than he would like to admit.

"Oh, hey Chrom!" Lissa beamed, waving hugely.

As usual, the princess managed to disperse any tension without trying.

"Lissa," Chrom smiled, "Can I ask what it is you two are whispering about or is it a secret of the…?"

"The sisterhood," Robin supplied with a smile, "_Apparently _I'm inducted for life now."

Chrom chuckled slightly, "No small duty, I'm sure."

"You're damn right it's not," Lissa huffed, "You just try to run away Robin and I'll hunt you down with the biggest prank Ylisse has ever seen!"

"Or kidnapped for life, as the case may be," Chrom added and the tightness in his shoulders slid away as Robin laughed.

Lissa growled and slapped at Chrom's arm, the sound ringing across the clearing.

"But it's a _very nice _kidnapping," Robin added soothingly, a hint of mirth still lacing her words, "If that's any consolation."

"Yeah, not so surprisingly it _isn't_," she then threw a glare in her brother's direction, "_You _can't join anyway, you lack the… delicacy."

Chrom grinned and replied with a pointed look in her direction, which soon turned into a yelp as Lissa slapped at him with renewed fervour. Lady Robin laughed as Chrom attempted to defend himself and the faux assault gradually crumbled into childish name-calling and poking. There was a look of soft longing in her eyes that Frederick immediately regretted catching. It felt as though he had intruded on something private as if stumbling across a diary or interrupting an embrace. Good-intentioned as he suspected the Plegian Princess to be, it was easier to consider her as an outsider. Even Frederick knows he would be incapable of doing so should he see such a look again.

Perhaps sensing his eyes on her, Lady Robin shifts her head in his direction and Frederick embarrassed himself with how quickly he snapped his head away.

"Oh, sorry, were you waiting for me to offer you a seat? I don't really have any but the habit is rather hard to break," she patted at the grass.

"My thanks," Chrom intoned, immediately breaking off from Lissa and lowering himself to sit on the thick grass.

Robin however is undeterred and offers the spot to Frederick once again. Lady Lissa and Lord Chrom have always been considerate of his needs, never treating him like a mere slave or piece of furniture. He had few friends, most among the other Ylissian Knights, and his relationship with his father and younger brother is warm. But he has always seemed _older _than the people about him; rarely invited to games as a child but the first one to be called open when there was the mechanics of building a den to work through, and the one ensuring everyone else made it home safely when he had visited Taverns as a youth. People come to Frederick for advice or when there is a task to be done; they do not seek him out merely to ask how he is feeling. Frederick had so deeply devoted his life to seeing to the safety and comfort of others, that he is never entirely sure what to do when someone takes pains to attend to his own.

"My thanks, My Lady, but it is quite alright. I appreciate the offer but I would prefer to stand," he rebuked gently.

Robin's brows knitted slightly and she opened her mouth to continue, but fell silent when Prince Chrom began to speak. Frederick would not admit the small relief that bloomed in his chest at that moment.

"I know what you mean, though," Chrom sighed as Lissa hopped over and plonked herself beside Robin, "Sometimes I still have to glance around to check if everyone else is eating before reaching for my fork."

"You do not!" Lissa snorted despite the tinge of red in her brother's cheeks, "You're always scoffing it down like you're half-starved or something."

"I don't scoff anything down!" Chrom frowned, "I just…eat at a faster speed than most…"

"There's nothing wrong with scoffing," Robin shrugged, "Sometimes I'd be that desperate, I'd end up burning my fingers trying to pull the food from the oven. It's the people that steal from your plate that you have to watch out for."

Chrom and Lissa agreed enthusiastically as the trio shared stories and condemnations of each other's experiences with 'food thieves'. Princess Robin, he decided, was born for diplomacy. Frederick was slightly awed by the ease with which Lady Robin is capable of influencing the emotions of those around her. And it was such a subtle art, it was the princess herself seeming to be affected solely by the brighter forces of the Ylissians' personalities. It was also a dangerous one in the wrong hands, a thought that kept Frederick's attention pinned on the interaction like a hawk circling over.

"Princess."

The group paused, Chrom midway through a retelling of the infamous 'exploding cake' fiasco on his fifteenth birthday. Robin's laughter caught in her throat as if an unseen hand had reached out and snagged it back, glancing up at Gregor and instantly looking down again to busy herself with her dress.

"Dusk is falling, princess," Gregor repeated, softer this time, "Time we be making camp, yes?"

"Yes," she flashed the captain a smile of gratitude as she pulled herself to her feet, "Thank you for the reminder Gregor."

Turning to where Chrom and Lissa were watching her, her expression turned apologetic, "Thank you for the stories, they were…" she laughed to herself, "...very educational. I'll be sure to avoid all suspiciously decorated cakes in the future."

"Be sure you do," Chrom beamed back, "Goodnight, Lady Robin."

"Just Robin is fine," she waved him off, "Goodnight you two, goodnight Frederick."

"Goodnight Robin!" Lissa waved cheerily.

It took Frederick a moment to realise he'd been included in that farewell. He hadn't directly involved himself in the prior conversation and was far too accustomed to being regarded as a breathing statue by nobles (baring the Ylissian royalty of course), that the act momentarily caught him off guard.

With a few seconds pause, he nodded his head respectfully and intoned, "Goodnight, My Lady."

"Oh no, just-"

"I'm sorry to say Frederick would likely feel more comfortable with the title," Chrom interjected, "I wouldn't take it personally, I've been trying to get him to call him by my first name for years."

"It wouldn't be proper," Frederick murmured, mentally denying that there was maybe the smallest trace of petulance in his tone.

"Princess," Gregor nudged.

With one last wave and smile, the Plegians disappear into the gloomy haze of the treeline. Dusk was falling in earnest, the leaves painted traces of blue and gold, while the forest with its vast trees is shadowed by a cobweb of the waning light. Lissa and Chrom watched her go, expressions tinged with a fondness Frederick does not welcome. Because this is the greatest suspicion of all.

Why did the Princess and her self-appointed bodyguard sleep away from the camp at night?

At first, Frederick had entertained the possibility of an elicit relationship between the pair. A possibility he had promptly disregarded. Gregor did indeed still appear to be interested, but Robin showed no signs of reciprocating. Such a thing _could_ be concealed, but so thoroughly for such a period of time? Robin's skill with people was impressive, but she was not a blank doll and Frederick was not blind, deaf or dumb.

Were they planning something? Or meeting with other Plegians away from Ylissian eyes?

Frederick did not know, and there was nothing Frederick disliked more than being caught unaware.

_Far away, across forests and sea and ice stood a Tower. It lay quiet, the absence of its former occupants marked in the silence that rebounded through the cold, spiralled structure. A young woman knelt among the rumble, spidery fingers slipping up and over each jagged stone as they scoured its surface for some sign. There was none. She did not need this destruction to tell her that the Princess was gone and the dragon that had guarded her through a sense of loyalty fled too with her ward's departure._

_Slowly with lithe, feline movements, the woman slipped from her crouch._

_Intense eyes flickered over her surroundings, the passageway dark and eerie besides the two blue-fire lamps lit above the woman's head. This had not been the plan. This had not meant to happen. The princess' self-imposed exile had cut at the woman in more ways than she cared to admit, but in time she had accepted that the Tower would be the princess' home and tomb. It was not meant to empty._

_And yet it was._

_ There was nothing for it. The others would learn soon and her chance would be gone. She had to act and act quickly. If she were the first to find her then Robin would be her prize and her prize alone. A smile bloated on dark intentions slowly curled the woman's lips. All she had to do was find the Princess._

_And then she would be hers to keep._

…..

"You don't own a friend like a prize," Mark scowled, interrupting Morgan's reading and snagging the attention of the flowery father and daughter duo.

"Oh," Charu breathed, her tone nonchalant but something sparking in her eyes that said it was anything but, "I must disagree, my dear, the very term '**my** friend' implies ownership."

"But you don't _own_ them," Mark argued back, "a person isn't something you own."

"Oh but they are," she smirked, "not in the way you own say…a hairbrush, though that might not be a comparison you could understand dear Mark-"

The crimson-haired boy's frown deepened at the remark, the halo of messy red spikes only seeming more chaotic in his anger.

"-so not in the way you own a sword. But you do _own_ some part of them, be it their thoughts or loyalty or affection or envy; it _is _yours because it _is_ marked by you," she finished airily.

"Yeah? And how many friends do you _own_ Charu, huh?" Mark questioned curtly, "Probably have a whole lot more if you didn't claim them like they're hairbrushes."

Inigo flexed slightly, leaning forward to leap to his daughter's rescue as his face scanned hers for any hurt. But she only smiled.

"You may be more entertaining than I'd previously thought, my dear."

Mark just scowled at her before muttering, "I miss Lear."

Morgan and Inigo just caught each other's eyes and looked vaguely helpless. Morgan shrugged slightly and Inigo leaned back to cuddle his daughter against his chest. They'd just have to leave their children to it, it seemed.

….

The party is half-way through their third day when Sir Libra finally wakes. It hadn't taken long for the group (predominately Chrom) to grow impatient with the activity and most had been trying to entertain themselves with impromptu sparring sessions or acclimatising Robin to being on horseback. Ricken had cautiously integrated himself to some small degree, nipping in for the odd meal or spell-slinging session one moment then retreating to berate them for trampling about his ancestral lands the next.

It didn't bother Stahl much. He could understand why the kid was so prickly; being regarded as small and unimportant by everyone about him or just plain ignored would grate on someone who felt they had a heritage to be proud of. He could kind of empathise, not with the old noble house since his own family were only on the very fringe of _minor _nobility, but being overlooked was something Stahl experienced on a regular basis.

Sure, after a while the whole 'don't underestimate me, I'll prove you wrong and live up to the old magic flowing through these veins' speech got a little tiring, but he would feign sleep and Ricken would inevitably storm off in a huff.

Probably to bother Robin about more magic tutoring (which Ricken crossly informed them 'wasn't tutoring') or follow about Chrom's heel like a puppy. They seemed accustomed to that brand of attention anyway, being royalty and all. Meanwhile Stahl was getting pretty comfortably accustomed to lazing in the grass and snacking on apples. In fact it was pretty great! He was even debating setting up a little house for himself somewhere, well when his knightly duties were done with.

But he'd find a location closer to civilisation. He wasn't the type of man to turn his nose up at sleeping on bedrolls but a nice Inn meal and a look around the market was always welcome, the former more than the latter. He'd been discussing such delights with Gregor and Lissa, who for once had unglued herself from Robin's side after eventually growing bored of watching (laughing at) the Plegian fall off her horse.

"And apple pie," Stahl smiled dreamily, his eyes closed softly against the light breeze and sunshine warming his face, "Man, what I wouldn't give for an apple pie."

"Or candy apples!" Lissa enthused, "Like the ones at the harvest fair!"

Stahl's smile grew, "yeah, that'd be great."

"It would," Lissa sighed wistfully.

"Ylissians candy their apples?" Gregor's laughed heartily, the force of the gesture shaking through the moist earth, "Apple is healthy, yes? So why you cover in candy?"

"Exactly, _the apple's_ the healthy part," Lissa replied, shocked that Gregor was clearly not grasping the logic.

"Oy," Stahl peeked an eye open to watch as the man shook his head and smiled to himself, "Gregor surprised Ylissians not all fat, cover your fruit in candy and no one walks, only ride horses."

"We do so walk!" Lissa yelled.

Stahl laughed to himself. Trust Lissa. He couldn't ever imagine feeling out of place or low with her around…it was just impossible. Sure, she was quick to anger and she could throw a tantrum like no other but to Stahl, that only showed how passionate the young Princess was. Something _he_ clearly lacked. Maybe if he had a bit more of Lissa's fire, he too could be something other than completely normal for once. He didn't want to be held up above people like Prince Chrom or infamous like Sir Frederick, but to be something other than 'just Stahl' might be nice for once. He sighed, eyes inevitably listing over to where Lissa was enthusiastically arguing with Gregor and practically bouncing where she sat while doing so, sunlight catching in her golden hair like it belonged there. It might be nice if _someone_ in particular viewed him as something other than 'just Stahl' for once.

He shook the thought as soon as it worded in his head.

Despite what Sir Frederick might think, Stahl was painfully aware of his place. He'd been comfortable with being ordinary (with not hoping to be anything but ordinary) and he _had _to be comfortable with it now. Besides it was enough just to be here, to be protecting these people who for all their faults (Frederick's disapproving looks in particular) genuinely were the most_ good_-hearted people Stahl had ever had the pleasure of knowing. That could be enough for him, and if it wasn't well…Stahl didn't really have that option.

"Isn't that right, Stahl?" Lissa finished with playful smugness.

She turned to smile at him, bright and full and for a second he toyed with the suddenly overwhelming urge to tell her _everything_. The sunlight and the breeze, the birdsong and the rhythmic swaying of the tall grass, the smell of wildflowers and her smiling down at him. It lasted for one very long or very short moment, he wasn't entirely sure. All he knew for certain was that he was at once both strangely drowsy and brimming with energy. He was also (he realised belatedly) just staring at her.

"Stahl?" Lissa repeated, sounding more concerned.

"Huh? Oh! Yeah, yeah, whatever you said, 100% agree," he mumbled, his cheeks hot.

He was blushing (which wasn't good) and Gregor caught it with a surprisingly perceptive smirk (which _really_ wasn't good). Lissa just laughed, however, completely oblivious to Stahl's careful reapplication of a more neutral expression.

"You can't just agree like _that_!" she announced, "Man, you are gonna be ssoooo whipped when you get married!"

"Then I better stay celibate," Stahl smiled, gently closing his eyes again, "I hear the priesthood's recruiting."

"You'd make a terrible priest," Lissa pouted with thought, "you'd eat all the harvest offerings."

"I might be a terrible one, but at least I wouldn't be a hungry one," Stahl shrugged, "Besides it's the thought that counts, and my eating of offerings would be done in the upmost sincerity."

"Whoa! You are a slob, brother Stahl!" Lissa tried for faux scolding but it's destroyed by her grin.

"Hey," Stahl shrugged, "It's a living."

Lissa snorted and opened her mouth to reply, when another fluster of movement caught her eye.

"Hey! Hey! Robin, Chrom get over here quick!"

It was Ricken, bounding around in the grass like a puppy that had misplaced its tail…and had a penchant for huge hats. Lissa perked up immediately while Gregor and Stahl's reactions were calmer, slowly hoisting themselves to their feet and walking towards the commotion as the princess dragged at them excitedly.

"Little pig-tailed girl not be so rough with the pulling," Gregor said with something between a chuckle and a sigh.

"Why? Scared I'm gonna pull something," Lissa bobbed her tongue out at the Plegian, "You're not _that_ old Gregor!"

"Gregor not old at all!" the man thundered, glancing at where Robin is flocking towards Ricken with Chrom and Frederick.

It's the closest expression to embarrassment Stahl has ever seen Gregor wear. It left Stahl second guessing about the nature of Gregor's feelings for the Plegian princess yet again. The huge man tended to make it his business to tease her into verbal matches, or hang protectively at her back without making an overt show of doing so. If Robin was on cooking duty, Gregor found a way to peel the vegetables or prepare the fire; if she was sparring, he made it a priority that he was the one refereeing the bout. He didn't touch her besides patting a hand on her head every now and then. And if his gaze had ever lingered, Stahl certainly never caught it.

He just couldn't work out if Gregor's attention is that of a fellow countryman, a big brother or of the more…amorous variety. For someone so loud, the man was remarkably hard to read. Though, that might just be a Plegian thing. Robin was very open but you'd never hear the woman tell you when _she's _hungry or what _she's _feeling. Ask her opinion bluntly (like Lissa and Chrom have the courage for) and she'll give it; but she never made a spectacle of her own emotions. Stahl couldn't begrudge her that, he worked along the same script even if his delivery was different. The only thing she would go out of her way to dance around were her sleeping arrangements. He doesn't begrudge her that either. Everyone is entitled to their privacy, and despite not having that much evidence to inspire such feelings, Stahl trusted both her and Gregor enough to know that if it was anything that threatened the Ylissians, they would tell them.

"Ricken!" Chrom called, striding over, "What's wrong?"

"He's waking up!" Ricken shouted back.

At this, the group broke out into a loose jog. Lissa got there first, skidding to her knees as she unhooked her staff and checked about for injuries. Chrom second followed closely by Robin and Frederick, the former joining Lissa. Chrom crouched at the unconscious knight's still concealed head, and looked to both his sister and Robin searchingly.

"Is he alright?" he asked.

"Shh!" Lissa hissed, "Working through armour is not the easiest thing in the world, especially when if everything reads A-OK it could mean either way!"

Robin glanced at Lissa before leaning forward to whisper, "He's perfectly healthy, but it's difficult for Lissa to tell whether he's still unconscious or-"

"Oi! Wakey wakey!"

"What are you doing!?" Chrom and Robin rushed simultaneously to stop Gregor was tapping his toe against the knight's helmet again. Lissa just shot the man a glare before checking whether _that_ wake-up method had gone any damage.

"Plegians," Ricken muttered peevishly at Stahl's elbow as if the entire population of the country was completely devoid of tact.

"Are you insane?" Chrom's jaw tightened, "You could have injured the man further; how would you like it if I kicked you awake every morning?"

"Hah!" Gregor peered down at him, massive arms crossed over his chest, "Princling could try!"

"_Princess_ may very well succeed," Robin rounded on Gregor's other side, "Grima's rotten tooth, Gregor we only need to wait for him to rouse, not kick the poor man in the head. What were you thinking?"

Gregor was looking far less comfortable with Robin's (admittedly less impressive) anger than he had been with Chrom's. The Plegian lifted a hand to scratch at his neck, gaze falling somewhere to the side and away from where the pair are still frowning up at him, waiting for a response. Stahl didn't think he had one, which was a shame considering Chrom's tenacity combined with Robin's vast memory. Chrom would wrangle an answer from him and Robin would remember it well enough to bring it up if (when) Gregor debated kicking an unconscious man in the head again. The man seemed to realise that he was cornered, but just as his face took on a stony edge another voice interrupted them.

"That is precisely what I would not mind answered."

It was incredibly soft and light, so much so that when it slipped past Stahl's ear he had the strangest worry that he might somehow damage it. The tone was polite, calm but tinged with a subtle sadness that made his chest ache. It's the type of misery that mellowed in silence, the quiet tones of a martyr. Although its presence was so unexpected, no one could react violently to a voice so gentle.

They turned from where they'd been distracted to find the knight gracefully levering himself into sitting position with slightly shaking arms. The cream of his armour doesn't intrude on the long grass and bright spots of wildflowers' bloody red, deep blue and vibrant yellows; it looked as though he belonged there, as though he'd always belonged there with butterflies and near cloudless summer skies. Then the knight reached for his helmet, and with a sigh of relief rid himself of the pale metal (carefully crafted to resemble swan wings fanning out and a beak at his mouth).

Now, Stahl doesn't doubt for a moment that he's only…_interested_ in women, but Sir Libra is the most flawlessly beautiful person he had ever seen. He had _felt _the shock and awe of the others as if it were radiating out from them all in visible waves. Distantly he thought he had heard Lissa sigh.

Lissa was beautiful. Robin was beautiful. Chrom was handsome. Frederick was handsome. But it actually almost _hurt _to look at Sir Libra, because he was beautiful without imperfection, beauty beyond human flaws and gender. Not that Stahl was attracted to him, you just couldn't be because he was that beautiful. It would be like trying to marry a sunset or something.

"You tried to damage _that _face!" Lissa exploded furiously at Ricken, thus shattering the stunned silence.

Sir Libra coughed uncomfortably, his cheeks reddening as he noticed the gawping of the group.

"That's gotta be a crime somewhere! You should get _hanged _for something like that!" Lissa yelled, "Actually, _he _should get hanged too for sticking a face like that in a smelly old helmet!"

"Lissa," Robin interjected gently, "You're making Sir Libra a little…_awkward_."

"Good!" she huffed, "He should suffer embarrassment like the rest of us mere not-beautiful mortals."

"Lissa, come now," Chrom tried, "he's only just woke, I doubt he needs to suffer being shouted at for something beyond his control."

"Although_…_," Chrom frowned contemplatively, "this _is _beyond your control, right? We're not all under the influence of a spell…or the influence of Frederick's cooking?"

"I assure you, this is my true face," Sir Libra spoke gently.

No one seemed sure of what to say after that, still a bit shell-shocked by the grand unveiling of the face in the helmet. Stahl felt more than a little sorry for the Knight of Themis. Clearly he was uncomfortable with being stared at with such wide-eyed scrutiny by a bunch of stranger. Perhaps, being more than ordinary looking wasn't as fantastic as it was cracked up to be. Stahl didn't doubt that the reaction would get old pretty quickly. Man, even Stahl felt uncomfortable and _he _wasn't even the spectacle.

"Well, it's nice to meet you Sir Libra," he stepped forward and offered his hand, "I'm Sir Stahl."

The man took his hand in a careful grip, his gratefulness palpable, "It is a pleasure to meet you. It seems my reputation has preceded me…again."

"It would seem so," Frederick rumbled, turning to give Ricken another disapproving stare.

Libra followed the Knight's line of sight, his face softening considerably when he caught sight of Ricken's ashamed frown and the way the boy shuffled from foot to foot with obvious guilt.

"I believe you owe this man an apology," Frederick prompted.

"I…I'm really sorry, Sir Libra. I swear, I am! I hadn't meant to cause you such trouble but I didn't know how to reverse the spell and I was just so _sick _of people treating my family like it was nothing and they could just walk all over us-"

"Peace, Ricken," Libra interrupted gently, "you meant no real ill and no harm has been done."

Ricken stared up at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape, until Stahl was a little concerned that the young Wizard might actually cry. Libra's fingers twitched to comfort the boy but a brief darkness passed across the Knight's eyes, and his hand fell to his side again. It was a gesture that made absolutely no sense at all to Stahl. The urge to reassure Ricken was undeniable in every inch of Libra's face, and yet he resisted committing an act that was simply harmless.

Stahl's eyebrows furrowed slightly, sharing a look with an equally perplexed Frederick and Robin.

"Well, you must be hungry!" Chrom announced, unaware of Libra's previous slip, "We were about to prepare the midday meal-"

"You needn't go out of your way to-"Libra spoke but was interrupted as Chrom smiled warmly and waved him off.

"Nonsense, it's no trouble at all….in fact, it meant stem from more selfish motives. There's something we need to discuss," Chrom frowned, "You're perfectly within your rights to disagree of course, there will be no pressure to accept."

Libra's pale eyes darted to the side once before he smiled serenely back at Chrom's concerned expression, "Thank you. I would very much enjoy the opportunity to greet you all…and listen to your request."

Chrom and Lissa led the Knight away, Ricken trailing slightly behind as they all migrated towards where the cooking pot sat awaiting to be filled. Stahl, however, lingered with Frederick and Robin.

"….Am I the only one who caught that?" Stahl voiced in a whisper, "The way he pulled back from Ricken, I mean?"

"No," Frederick frowned, "It was a most…unusual reaction."

Robin hummed, "It _could _simply mean he's not comfortable with physical contact but…didn't Ricken say something about him having a reputation before he became 'Sir Libra the Gentle'?"

Frederick straightened and nodded once, arms behind his back and eyes keeping disciplined track of where Lissa was flitting between fussing over Libra's health and managing Ricken.

"Have you heard anything about it?" Stahl leaned forward to peer at Robin from the other side of Frederick, "You'd read up on Princess Maribelle, did it say anything about her Personal Knight?"

She lapsed into silence and frowned slightly, the cogs whirring away under that head of snowy hair.

"….No, nothing I can recall. Themis is a very small country, especially compared to Ferox or Rosanne; I'd only really heard about Princess Maribelle through her reputation with other noble ladies," at Frederick's sigh she flashed the man an apologetic grimace, "….I'm sorry."

"It's no fault of your own, Lady Robin. I should have prepared myself further," he replied kindly (a tone Stahl didn't hear directed at _him _too often, but then again he doubted Robin would be the type of person that arrived late for drill inspection).

The Great Knight's eyes hardened again as he redirected his attention back towards Sir Libra, "We will just have to be observant."

"Isn't that kind of like asking you to breathe, Sir Frederick," Stahl smiled.

"I fail to see the comparison," Frederick's expression was unamused but there was a slight dry-humoured edge to his voice.

Robin laughed lightly at that but it was swallowed by the noise of Lissa's far more rambunctious mirth. Yeah, Stahl would have to keep an eye on Sir Libra as his superior advised. He tried to convince himself that it was purely because the man was an unknown and therefore a potential hazard. He tried to convince himself that his attention had nothing at all to do with the way Lissa was attentively questioning the man on his tastes.

He had to hand it to himself. He _almost_ succeeded.

…

Upon closing the book, Morgan found his otherwise brisk ten year old clinging (actually _clinging, _the tactician marvelled) to his arm. Morgan blinked, trying to recall a time after Mark's ninth birthday where the boy thought it necessary to clutch at his father so.

"Are you alright, Marky-boy?" Morgan whispered, his eyebrows drawing together with concern.

Mark shot a wary look over his shoulder towards where the Plegian royalty were giggling (and if Inigo knew that Morgan had witnessed him giggling with a ten year old girl, he was certain that he'd be charged with regicide-or the Prince equivalent-when Inigo died from embarrassment).

"Don't leave me with them," Mark whispered desperately, "…._please."_

"Come on Marky, it's not like you to be scared of-"another pleading tug of Morgan's sleeve halted his speech, and Morgan couldn't help stared at his son with disbelief, "….you're serious aren't you?"

"Yes! I think Prince Inigo just called her…_sugarplum_. If I stay here too long I'll go mad or puke, or _both_!" Mark paled.

Morgan chuckled, attempting to hide it in a cough when Inigo and Charu glanced up from where the Plegian Prince was currently cooing out to his daughter and combing out her long hair. He found it quite…endearing really. Though he'd never voice the thought to Mark who'd label him a traitor and, only feel more self-conscious and alienated in Inigo and Charu's company (as much as Morgan enjoyed embarrassing his son, anyone else doing so resulted in a pang of irritation). Despite the roguish character Inigo clearly wanted those to perceive him as, he'd been nothing but completely devoted to his daughter.

Neither of the Plegians were as blasé as they liked to broadcast, and Morgan wondered if perhaps they found a sense of respite and understanding in one another because of that. With each other, Inigo and Charu could be as starry-eyed as they cared and not fear a rebuke or laughter. It was the same sense of trust that Morgan hoped his son placed in him (although with Mark it would never be displayed through frequent hugs and cutesy pet names).

"Dad?" Mark tugged at him again, drawing him from his reverie and towards two big, beseeching eyes.

Morgan winked at his son and smiled. He'd do everything in his power to ensure that Mark's trust was never misplaced.

"Oh, Inigo!" the tactician called, "Mark's not feeling well, I think its best he sleep in mine and Kjelle's room tonight. Y'know in case he gets…queasy."

"Well I don't see a problem with it," Inigo shrugged gracefully, "Do you, sweetness?"

"None at all," Charu replied in disinterested tones, "In fact, daddy, this means you and mom can stay in _my _room instead!"

"So it does!" Inigo laughed, "We'll get the mattress, though you can't be up too late, precious-"

Morgan didn't hear the rest of the conversation as his son was already pushing him bodily through the door. He slammed it shut as if the very demons of hell were on the other side, then suddenly turned and gripped Morgan's leg in a brief, fierce hug.

Morgan could only gape dumbly. Not entirely sure it had happened at all if it hadn't been for the way Mark's entire face blushed vermillion. His hug concluded in his mind, Mark pivoted on his heel and sternly marched in the direction of his parent's room. A slightly shell-shocked Morgan followed after, smiling widely but grateful enough not to ruin the moment with questioning his son's actions.

"I'm so glad you're not like everybody else's dads," Mark muttered.

Morgan's smile grew, but he never said a word.

**A/N:**

**I've decided to change my updating date to Friday as you may have noticed XD **

**On that note, I know I type replies to my reviewers but I'd also like to say that I am genuinely grateful for the little smile I get every time my reviews, follows or favourites number goes up so THANK YOU! I don't like asking for reviews and try not to make a habit of it, but there is something I'd really like your opinion on as a reader. In the interludes with Morgan and Mark, I'm debating in future chapters to change it so we see other future families also, for example Inigo reading to Charu or Lucina and Brady reading to Lear. Is that something you'd be interested in and/or think would work? I'm not entirely sure myself so any feedback on the question would be greatly appreciated (:**

**As for pairings, I still don't want to just give them away just yet since it's still pretty early in the game, but I have included some hints already for example:**

**-We know Brady and Lucina are married, so Maribelle can't be Lucina's mother.**

**-Robin and Henry are cousins in this AU (I feel like I can verify that since it was pretty obvious who Robin was talking about when she described her male cousin) so that's another pairing ruled out due to them being blood related.**

**-Kjelle and Morgan are married, and live in Kjelle's homeland of Ferox though Morgan had only mentioned Plegia as his homeland (but referred to it as his ****_maternal_** **homeland).**

**-Both Inigo, Morgan and Kjelle are described as Prince/Princess; while Lucina is the only one of the future children (thus far) to be called Queen.**

**-Charu is noted to have blonde hair (Mark gets his red hair from his grandmother, Sully, while Lear is blue-haired like his mother) and her mother's colouring, which would suggest that her maternal grandfather is also blonde.**

**-Morgan states that he travelled to Ferox to make his own identity as a tactician at court there, which would suggest that he wasn't originally from the area (plus his blunder with the comment about defences to Kjelle and his initial distaste for Feroxi food). So his father isn't Feroxi; this one is far vaguer because like you've seen in some cases (Gregor being Plegian in this for example) I've fiddled around with the positions and occupations of some of the characters. **

**-The personalities of the future children's children were written with their parents ****_and_** **grandparents in mind, obviously not carbon copies but there are traits that have been passed down that could be considered clues to their heritage.**

**I'm not sure how many readers are trying to predict the pairings, but I know it's something I personally enjoy doing so I thought I'd just stick this up here :3 I got a bit weird assigning the pairings I'll have to admit, even going so far as to create a family tree and how the characters related to each other on a big A2 sheet XD **

**Reviewer Replies:**

**Acqua Sole: ****Thank you very much for the review! You praise me too much -/- but that doesn't mean I'm not thankful for it; I especially want to say thanks for the comment on characterisation. One of the things that makes Fire Emblem one of my favourite games is that there is so many varied characters that you can really get behind, trying to write from their perspective is a bit tricky (and half the time I'm sure I've got it wrong) but it all makes writing this a lot of fun! As for pairings I don't want to reveal anything yet (although I ****_will _****say that one of those suggestions is right ;p **). **Also to answer your question; in this AU Sully has always been the princess of Ferox, to be honest most of the countries in this have no real bearing on their Cannon counterparts in some cases I just used the names. Hope that helps (:**

**Sparks101: ****Thank you very much for the review! Yeah, Morgan and Mark do work better than just scene transitions and I don't know about you, but in my head Morgan always seemed like he'd be the super devoted and slightly embarrassing father type? Like he'd be the type of dad who'd make you a pack lunch to take to school with you even when you're seventeen, or still call you by your childhood nickname when you're forty.**

**Zarelyn: ****Thank you very much for the review! And I was trying to reduce my word count because I was worried that over-weighty chapters might scare some people off, but after your review I'm not checking it anymore XD Libra's one of my favourite characters, so he was one of the first ones I had in mind (besides Gregor). His backstory is still 'shrouded in mystery' in the game, to be honest I wrote him off a bit at first, until his support with Tharja revealed that there was something more to him and now he's one of my favourites. You've gotta love a priest with a bloody edge (:**

**Radio-Blaze: ****Thanks for your review and ****_double _****thanks for the reassurance with Robin! Seriously after that, I could just stop worrying about trying not to make her boring and actually get on with writing her (: I have to admit to neglecting characters too, although Kellam was the one I usually left at the barracks (invisible to the end TT-TT ) although it's not that hes' ****_bad_** **just that there's so many other characters that I think are better…sorry Kellam**

**Massive thank you to everyone who's also read, followed or favourited this!**


	7. The Trials of Being Maribelle

The Trials and Tribulations of Being Princess Maribelle.

Wishing someone to like something was an exercise in frustration. Morgan knew the more he pushed his son into appreciating Plegia (as _he_ had done when visiting as a boy) the more Mark would obstinately push against such efforts. Yet even knowing that didn't mean Morgan could tamp down on every little urge, such as trying to win Mark over with dark Plegian chocolates or attempting to impress him with demonstrations of harpooning and great War Ships.

Mark didn't enjoy the chocolate. He found the harpooning fine enough, but not superior to the spear skills of Feroxi riders. As for the ships…Mark could not understand _why _anyone would bother with such creations when nature had offered them perfectly exceptional horses.

Kjelle seemed sympathetic about Morgan's muted disappointment. It was unlike his wife, not that she was a cruel woman but that Kjelle was of the mind that self-pity was unacceptable when there were far more productive things a person could be doing with their time. Despite Morgan's attempts to conceal the blue mood his son's disinterest had wrought; his wife had sniffed it out like a hound smelt fresh blood.

"Give him time."

"Huh?" Morgan glanced up from where he'd been organising the one cluttered bookcase Inigo kept in the guest room (_one _of the many guestrooms anyway).

"Mark," Kjelle reiterated, her deep purple eyes still focused on untying her arm guards, "This is the first time he's been so far outside Ferox, give him some time to adjust."

When Morgan only continued to frown down at the books in his hands, Kjelle sighed and rested her now untied arm guards on the bedside table. Morgan neither confirmed nor denounced her perceptive claim; but now it had been spoken aloud he couldn't help feeling out the ache. This was precisely the issue Kjelle had with indulging such an action, to sympathise too much with someone was to allow them to wallow in their pain. And Mark's blaring Feroxi mind-set had been an old wound to her husband.

She knew Morgan's secret hurts; the way that at times he still worried about his use and place, about whether he was 'put up with' or his importance to those around him. He had never been a selfish man, neither his mother nor father had been narcissistic either the effect that had had on Morgan growing up was obvious. He would _never_ demand that Kjelle or Mark prove their love for him, but still his sensitive nature couldn't help seeking out evidence. Yes, her husband may never say a word but Kjelle could see the disenchantment in his eyes as clearly as he had voiced it.

Briskly Kjelle tugged the book from Morgan's hands, diverting his attention from where he'd been frowning blindly down at its cover and reverting it back up to her face. Kjelle placed a hand against her husband's face, palm to cheek. Her touch was not done gently but neither was it harsh; it was strong and steady, her loyalty and devotion conveyed through an unblinking stare not a smile. It was that very strength, that very unbending faith that had drawn Morgan to her like a moth to a flame when they met.

"Morgan," Kjelle said, "Stop being so sensitive. As much as Mark complains, has he ever once asked to go back home?"

Morgan blinked, "…No. Actually now you mention it, he's never even hinted."

"Why do you think that is?" Morgan only stared back at her at the question, and with a sigh Kjelle elaborated, "It's because of _you_, Morgan."

"Me?" the tactician breathed.

"Yes," and here, Kjelle's lips curled into a small smile, "Mark hates the place, but he wants to stay because it's important to you and he wants to know the places his father loved."

"You…."by now Morgan is smiling back at her, "You really think so?"

"Yes," Kjelle replied sternly, before giving his cheek a pat, "So stop being such a softy, you ridiculous man."

A glint appeared in Morgan's eye, a glint of mischief and intelligence that Kjelle knew all too well. As she did the beaming smile that spread across the man's face. She faked ignorance to the arms that reached out to curl about her back, and the way Morgan's head unconsciously canted so she was looking down as her husband looked up at her with large, soft brown eyes. No wonder many questioned who played the traditional roles of 'man' and 'woman' in their relationship. Not that Morgan was overtly feminine but he was softer than Kjelle, more open to both kisses and bruises.

"You love that I'm ridiculous," Morgan whispered, an edge to his voice that immediately put Kjelle in mind of…other things. The anticipation made her fingers twitch. They were in guestrooms, there would be no Court Runner to call one or the other back to the palace in the dead of night. No worries about muffling the noise lest they wake Mark.

She could do what she liked with Morgan. _They _could do what they liked with _each other._

"Do I?" Kjelle replied drily, her breath catching as Morgan's warm breath bloomed across her neck.

Kjelle's hand moved to card through the soft hair at the back of Morgan's head, revelling in the shudder that ran along his spine and the first kindling of heat in his eyes as he looked up at her through his lashes. If Kjelle could be accused of one selfishness, it was how Morgan became putty in her hands in the bedroom. It affect someone so easily, to have someone place complete control of themselves in your hands and trust you not to abuse it, was a high Kjelle felt guilty in relishing.

"Kjelle…"

"MOM! DAD!"

The two broke apart, both a little red-faced and perhaps too overly hasty in their embarrassment.

"Mark, we're in here," Kjelle tried to cool her voice, biting back a curse and for a single moment irrationally annoyed with her son.

"Oh," Mark rounded into the room, "there you are. Charu's trying to 're-organise my wardrobe'…whatever the hells _that_ means."

"Language," Kjelle chided sharply.

Mark shot her a look, but relented with a mumbled sorry regardless. Finally the ten year old seemed to sense that he had interrupted something, but after a scan of the room and finding everything in order his confusion as to what exactly he had interrupted was plain.

"…Anyway," he folded his arms and looked at his parents frankly, "can I sleep here tonight again?"

Before Kjelle could open her mouth, Morgan was already rushing in.

"Of course, Marky-boy, you need only ask," he grinned, "Now, do you bring your book or-"

"Aren't you a little old to be sleeping with us, Mark?" Kjelle asked.

Mark predictably coloured at the insinuation, "No…yes, I guess…_but _I'm only asking because I don't want to share a room with that she-devil, er I mean Charu."

"C'mon Kjelle, he's no trouble really," Morgan pleaded, big brown eyes shining in his classic puppy-dog look.

Kjelle sighed, "Fine, fine, _but _I want no more trouble from you Mark, understood?"

Mark huffed, still blushing and avoiding her eyes.

"Understood, Mark?" Kjelle repeated.

"…Yes," he conceded, "Now can I stay…_please?"_

"Just for tonight," Kjelle busied herself with tucking him into their guest bed, "And I want you straight to sleep after your father's finished reading."

Mark opened his mouth to agree but quietened at his mother's stern glance, "Straight to sleep, Mark, and that is not up for discussion."

Morgan shuffled himself into bed besides the red-haired boy, while Kjelle lowered herself in from the other side. Family tucked in, Morgan flicked through to the marked page and begun…

…

With the addition of Sir Libra, travelling arrangements had grown evermore strained and as a result were organised in their usual manner. Which, to be precise, meant a great deal of fussing, mediated by Robin, inflamed by Lissa, Gregor and Frederick, then finally commandeered by Chrom.

Sir Frederick was not comfortable with the notion of so many strangers in such close proximity; and despite being 'one of those strangers' Robin could understand the man's reservations. She did not desire to think poorly of Sir Libra or little Ricken, but had it been her and her cousin out riding she couldn't imagine being entirely comfortable with the suggestion to allow such a large warrior in the saddle with Henry.

"So what horses do we have?" Robin asked as she, Frederick, Ricken, Lissa and Chrom stood heads together in a semi-circle near where Stahl occupied with himself with simultaneously tacking their mounts and juggling cold strips of bacon into his mouth. Sir Libra and Gregor were content to leave the arrangements to the rest of them, Libra willingly placing his fate in their hands as a mark of trust while Gregor announced that he was fine with whatever.

"Weeeellllll…."Lissa blew her cheeks out with thought, "There's mine and Chrom's horses, then Stahl and Frederick have chargers."

"And there's-"Robin did a brief mental check, "eight of us. That means two people astride each horse, if Sir Stahl and Sir Frederick have chargers it would be wiser to seat the heavier people there."

Chrom nodded, "That means Frederick, Gregor and Sir Libra; the lightest riders are Lissa, Ricken and yourself, Robin."

"Okay," Robin smiled, satisfied, "Now, is there anything you are absolutely against Sir Frederick?"

The huge man hummed, the noise rich and deep and rumbling in his throat until his voice followed its wake, "I am not willing to allow Lady Lissa or Lord Chrom to ride with strangers, I also am not entirely comfortable with you, Lady Robin, in the saddle with a stranger. You are still not entirely confident on horseback and therefore it is preferable to have someone I trust with you."

"Hey! Are you saying me and Sir Libra are untrustworthy?" Ricken yelled, clearly affronted.

"What would you wish me to answer with?" Frederick began, tone frank but not cruel, "I know neither of you, and what I know of Gregor is not…reassuring. I am a Knight of Ylisse, would you expect me to leave the safety of my charges and a Lady of Robin's station to such a fickle thing as chance?"

That threw the group into silence. Robin had always been aware of Sir Frederick's dedication to his duty but she had never considered that it was so intrinsically wrought into his being. He was a Knight first and foremost, before he was a man or a friend or even at times human; and honestly how many people could say they would _willing_ devote so much for their cause? She had met determined souls and she had met martyrs; but it was rare to meet someone who sacrificed so much and did so gladly.

"Peace, Frederick," Chrom smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder, "Lissa and Robin will ride with you and Stahl-"

"But My Lord-"Frederick began but was interrupted as Chrom raised a hand.

"-Meanwhile I will ride with Ricken, which means Sir Libra and Gregor share a charger and I imagine a Knight of Sir Libra's position would be more than capable of overcoming any…wobbles Gregor may have on horseback."

"But…Prince Chrom," Robin interjected, paused then looked at Ricken apologetically, "I mean no offense, Ricken, but considering Sir Libra's prior condition, wouldn't it be best you ride with someone less….unpredictable, Chrom?" at Ricken's scowl, Robin added, "_Magically_, I mean. You may mean no harm Ricken, and I honestly believe that, but history has proven that you're perhaps not the _most _controlled Wizard I've ever come across."

"It was one time!" Ricken huffed defensively.

"All it takes is 'one time'," Frederick replied drily, "I agree with Lady Robin on this, perhaps-"

"Frederick, Robin," Chrom sighed, clearly trying to keep his cool but mildly exasperated that such a simple task was being drawn out by the pair's worrying, "I appreciate your concern, truly I do, but I very much doubt Ricken is going to make me explode."

"I don't even think there's a spell for that," Ricken muttered, casting the Great Knight and the Plegian Princess a mutinous look.

"There are several," Robin replied absently, "and none of them are pleasant or simple."

"_Several_," Frederick echoed, his scrutiny of Ricken only growing more intense.

"Peace, peace!" Chrom threw up his hands, "Then Robin can ride with me, and Ricken with you. We've already decided, so mount up and we'll get on our way, we'd already tarried enough over what to eat at _breakfast_ without making a fuss over riding arrangements too."

That visibly cowed the pair, Frederick breathing a 'My apologies, My Lord' while Robin hastened to ascertain that she meant no disrespect and was only thinking of the group as a whole. Clearly the pair looked deploringly remorseful because the frustration that had been building in Chrom's chest came whooshing out in one heavy sigh. Robin flushed with embarrassment. Sure, these people had been kind to her but it wasn't her place to question what they did. Despite any urge she had to.

Robin had always organised those close to her, her cousin had possessed a penchant for destruction (to himself and others) that needed to be monitored and her only constant companion among the Plegian nobility, Tharja, had never rid herself of her notorious vengeful streak. Robin had been the voice of reason then, the one carefully steering them all from harm whenever it was within her power (and _trying _to those few times it wasn't). The way the Ylissians had been treating her made it easy to forget that she was no longer among her own, that she was no longer an accepted part of a larger puzzle. She had resigned herself from company, and that was a decision she needed to uphold even if these Ylissian rescuers made her feel instantly included.

"So we done then?" Lissa blinked, "Can we _finally _go now?"

Chrom nodded, "You're with Stahl, Lissa."

"Great! Hey Robin!" the younger princess grinned and tugged at Robin's sleeve, "I'll race you, okay? Be prepared to eat mine and Stahl's dust!"

With a whoop, the blonde dashed off; Chrom smiling to himself and striding after her with Ricken trailing at his heel like a puppy. Lissa threw herself at the easy-going knight's back, her feet dangling off the ground and coaxing laughter from both Stahl and Gregor. Yes, Robin could understand why she had acted as she did before. It was hard not to wish for the best for these people, even if she had only travelled with them less than a month, she could not imagine wishing anything else for them all but happiness.

How could you spend time around Lissa's cheery laughter, Stahl's well-meaning smiles and Chrom's earnest courage, and _not _find yourself willing to shield them from harm?

Robin was so accustomed to the Plegian Court and the grim acceptance of her fate, that she was not equipped to defend herself against the bright intrusion that was the Ylisse questing party. Part of her didn't even want to. Wouldn't it be wonderful to just…lose herself in their company?

"My Lady."

Frederick's deep voice snapped her from her reverie and Robin blinked, finding the Knight's dark green eyes latched upon her.

"Are you feeling well?" he asked.

Robin smiled and shook her head, "Sorry, Frederick, I was just….thinking."

He frowned for a moment and Robin watched the question come and pass over his face in one smooth ripple. Clearly he was curious but likewise restrained by his reluctance to intrude, though why Robin did not know. Obviously Frederick viewed her as a woman of high station, but she did not doubt for a moment that such a title would stop the man from any action if he felt it was necessary to protect Lissa and Chrom.

"…I see," he finally answered, "Come, Lady Robin, it would not do to have you so distracted with so many dangers about. Especially on horseback, you're likely to fall off and be horribly trampled underfoot."

Robin didn't reply. There wasn't much she _could _say to that.

"Lady Robin, are you feeling well?" Frederick blinked, confused as to why the otherwise sociable woman had lapsed into silence.

Amused, Robin sighed and shook her head, "Nothing, never mind Sir Frederick."

And with that, she made her way over to the others assisting with tying packs and distributing their supplies so the horses weren't overburdened. Sir Libra was intent on offering his assistance, although he had been reassured by Lissa that it wasn't needed. Robin couldn't shake the notion that the man was far more comfortable in a serving position. The Themis Knight stuck close to Gregor (who would treat a king as he would the local blacksmith) and he avoided Ricken's hero-worship whenever civility mandated that he was able to. Robin, however, gravitated towards Lissa. She'd spent much of her time with the Ylissians in Lissa's company and even if she had not, Lissa was just the type of person people gravitated towards regardless.

"Ready to eat my dust?" Lissa winked as she handed Robin another armful of tarp.

"Do I have a choice?" Robin smiled back.

"Only in the way I'm serving it to you!" Lissa sang.

"Rare, then, with plenty of greens."

"Blegh!" Lissa scrunched her nose and stuck out her tongue in an expression of exaggerated disgust, "I don't get why you like your meat so rare, it's practically pink Robin! Y'know that's not normal, right?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Robin laughed, "You're criticising my palette, after that concoction of asparagus and toffee you cooked up last night?"

"I thought it'd work, like candy and apples," Lissa huffed, "Besides Stahl enjoyed it!"

"Stahl would enjoy anything you served him," Robin murmured absently, only realising her slip when Lissa's eyebrows puckered with confusion, "I've never seen him turn away food."

"Or maybe he just has better taste?" Lissa teased, "I mean he's got to turn away _something_, he can't just…like _everything_, right?"

When the two women looked at one another with equal amounts curiosity and disbelief that such a stomach could exist, Lissa merely repeated, "_Can _he?"

"I'm….pretty sure it's humanely possible…at least," Robin answered hesitantly, "But still doubtful. And anyway, there'd be a lot more leftovers if Sir Stahl wasn't travelling with us so let us be thankful of his stomach for that at least."

"Are you two talking about my stomach?" Stahl questioned from the other side of his horse.

"Yep! We were just saying that it's a good thing you're such a greedy-guts or we'd have to throw out more food!" Lissa yelled back.

"Right….sorry I asked," Stahl pouted and patted his armoured tummy, "Looks like it's just you and me, buddy, against the world."

Lissa snorted a laugh and the Knight's faux depression cleared up immediately.

"The world _and_ the leftover bear meat Sir Frederick was trying to sneak off his plate," Robin added with a grin.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that!" Lissa's snorting laughter only grew at the reminder, "Jeez, he looked just like a naughty kid when Gregor caught him!"

Robin laughed with the pair at that, the memory of the hard-faced and proper Knight reduced to stuttering and puppy-eyes when Chrom asked him what exactly he was trying to stuff into his armour. Tack jingled and horses snorted, the smell of sap and wildflower cloying and sweet-sharp in the air. The peace and easy, light-hearted company in the sun-drenched woods made Robin experience another burst of affection for these people. She'd spent most of her life _searching _for people such as this, people who could be friends who could love her and be loved in return, how cruel that she should find them now. Robin felt the powerful urge to just stay, to get to know Lissa and Stahl and Frederick and Chrom, to share more meals and inside jokes and hushed conversations with them all. She sighed, the daydream bubbling in her chest. That is until a great commotion came barrelling towards her. She barely had the time to feel the ground quake before she was tugged aside.

"Look out!" Lissa cried, dragging them both into the long grass in a mess of tent material and tangled limbs.

Robin batted it away, hastily checking Lissa over as the younger woman groaned and hauled herself to her feet.

"Chrom!" she bellowed, "Keep that evil thing under control, you almost flattened me and Robin!"

Stahl had rushed over but he paused in his effort to ensure Lissa's safety, when Robin gave a reassuring smile and gently shook her head. He grinned and nodded once in thanks. She couldn't help wondering if the Knight himself realised how obvious he was about his affections…well, obvious to everyone _but_ the other Ylissians apparently. A count that unfortunately included Lissa herself.

"Gods, are you two okay?" Chrom panted, struggling to pull his mount back into order as the creature danced furiously for a few more erratic paces.

"We're fine, honestly, the noise was warning enou-"

"Are you crazy!?" Lissa stomped in, despite Robin's efforts to sooth the prince, "We had to leap outta the way!"

"Something just set her off," Chrom dragged a frustrated hand through his hair, "If I'd known I would have curbed her at least, but she just went charging!"

"It's alright!" Robin attempted to calm the heightened emotions of the Ylissian royalty, "Really, look everyone's fine and nothing's broken."

Chrom and Lissa sucked in breath and exhaled far steadier than they had been breathing before.

The prince drew himself up in his saddle and aimed a smile her way, "Weren't you just fussing with Frederick about me riding with a fifteen year old mage?"

"I was," Robin shrugged, "But fifteen year old mages we can do something about at least, unpredictable beasts of burden are far trickier."

"Heh, true enough. Well, this will do for an introduction at least…although a lot more disastrous than I would have preferred. Lady Robin this is Red, Red this is Lady Robin," Chrom patted at the chestnut mare's elegant neck with a slight flourish, as if he was making a light-hearted jest of the formality rather than seriously practicing it.

"Otherwise known as the Demon Stead," Lissa muttered before whining, "Chrom! Does Robin really have to go with you on that thing, can't she just ride with me like before?"

"Lissa, we've already been through this…" Chrom sighed.

"C'mon! Sir Libra can just ride with Stahl or something," Lissa pulled Robin to her, ignoring the 'urk' the woman omitted as the younger princess clutched to her, "_Please _Chrom!"

"Wow…did I just get brushed off?" Stahl murmured.

"Actually," Robin disentangled herself from Lissa, "I think it's safer you ride with Stahl-"she hurried to add when Lissa glared and opened her mouth in protest, "-not because you're a bad rider, but because _I_ am. We'll be travelling for a longer amount of time to reach the palace, and I still only manage about half an hour before I start getting wobbly. It'll do no good if I'm dragging us both out of the saddle every hour or so."

"So you decided to drag_ me_ out the saddle instead?" Chrom questioned with a quirked brow.

"Hey," Robin shrugged, "You've got an infamously harder head."

Chrom laughed, "Touché."

"So let me get this right, you need to ride with Chrom because…he's stupider than me?" Lissa questioned.

"I didn't exactly say-"

"Alright!" the blonde's complete reversal was punctuated by a little leap and fist pump, "That sounds fine with me, see you guys later!"

And with that, Lissa skipped off but not before slipping her arm through Stahl's and swinging him along with her. Robin smiled and shook her head, caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. She knelt down and began to rectify the damage Chrom's approach had done, retying the tent poles together and carefully folding the waterproof hides.

"Here allow me," Chrom swung from the saddle and crouched down to help.

"No, no, seriously its fine," Robin attempted to wave him off but in her haste only ended up smacking the young prince in the mouth with one of the tent poles. Chrom 'oofed' non-too-gently as, over-balanced, he went thumping back on his rear and tried desperately to stem his bleeding nose.

"Grima's cursed nose hair! I'm sorry!" Robin discarded the tent poles with a clatter, "Are you alright? Here, let's see!"

"Is it bleeding badly?" Chrom asked, though it was mostly made unrecognisable by the nosebleed.

"Tilt your head back a bit," Robin ordered, ripping at her sleeves so she had something to mop up the blood, "I'm so sorry Chrom, you offer to help and I smack you in the face as payment."

"Don't worry about it," he spoke through a pinched nose, "_Apparently _I have an 'infamously hard head'."

Robin chuckled, gently wiping the blood from his face as she murmured a healing charm. Satisfied, she leaned back on her heels and gave the man a smile.

"There," she handed him the cloth so he could wipe away the dirt from his hands, "How does it feel?"

"Besides the blow to my pride? Fine, thank you," he smiled back.

"I'm sure your pride will recover," Robin pulled herself to her feet, "It's your nose I'm more worried about, you could hardly stand in as the dashing prince rescuing princesses when your nose is bent against your cheek and your voice is all nasally."

Chrom paused in where he'd been wiping the back of his armour free of tangled ferns, "….I didn't think of that."

Robin only gave him a knowing smile.

"I'm beginning to get the impression that you think of everything, Lady Robin, you've a mind like a treasurer."

"'You've a mind like a treasurer'?" Robin echoed, "Lord Chrom, you shouldn't flatter me like that, I might find myself overcome by your princely charms."

"Heh, _what _'princely charms' and your sarcasm wounds me, believe it or not I meant that as a compliment," the young man hoisted the now wrapped bundle of tent wrapping and poles onto his stead's back and tied it to the saddle, leaning against it as Robin finished collecting any spare cooking utensils and placed them in a saddlebag.

"I _do _believe it," she grinned, "hence the sarcasm."

Chrom laughed and Robin found herself almost joining him; not because she found it funny but merely because it was a pleasant sound and she had the sudden urge to do so. Instead she settled for a smile, watching as he smiled green-tinged by the light filtering through the canopy of leaves overhead; the smell of horse and leather in her nose and his laughter still ringing in her ears. Chrom paused, still resting against his horse and watched her back. An odd moment passed, and Robin had no other word to describe it that just that. 'A moment' filled with nothing but a nameless patience, half-formed thoughts or words lying undisturbed simply because both were content not to act on them, to just let it be.

Then it was broken as Chrom suddenly coughed, and hastily turned his back to readjust the girth of his saddle. Robin felt the same sudden need to fidget, though she was unsure why. They'd only smiled at one another, surely that wasn't something to be self-conscious about.

"Frederick said you'd improved, but still aren't as ready as he'd like you to be," Chrom's voice spoke, "though if Frederick had his way, I'm sure you'd be eighty before he deemed you skilled enough and then he'd forbid you anyway for being too old."

He was babbling and they both knew it. Chrom had found himself clumsy-fingered, and watching the man who was otherwise the picture of decisive action try unsuccessfully to adjust the saddle was a peculiar torture

"Unfortunately," Robin began as casually as she could, trying to spare Chrom this strange onslaught of nerves that had abruptly infected him, "Sir Frederick isn't exaggerating. I may be quite the burden on this ride."

Chrom nodded and swung himself easily into the saddle, "I doubt you could be too much of a burden, Robin. You don't seem the type of person who'd ever want to be a burden on anyone. You never eat more than your share nor shirk your duty, in fact you constantly ask if there's anything_ else_ you can do. I've never heard you complain, not once, about the heat or the cold or the fact that we're sleeping outside; and if Ricken or Lissa ask for your attention, you give it without a second thought. Heh, if anything I worry that _we're_ all a burden on _you_."

Robin blinked.

As she had been watching the Ylissians, Chrom had been watching her. The thought brought about a flare of embarrassment, his words far too kind and yet so…honest. To have someone judge her character not only made her feel oddly naked and vulnerable, but for them to also make such a lovely assessment was touching in a way Robin was not prepared for.

She felt her cheeks heat as a rush of warmth bubbled inside her chest.

"Thank you," she rubbed a thumb over her fingers, tipping her head down before smiling at him.

"You're welcome," he smiled and nodded back.

Chrom reached out a hand and Robin took it, carefully hoisting herself into the saddle behind him. His cloak was course and smelt of the grass he'd laid it across when he'd used the material as a blanket. Robin scrunched her nose, the material tickling at her while she moved her hands until her fingers were laced on the other side of Chrom's chest. He remained perfectly still as she shuffled about, her grip tightening when Red stamped once against the floor. It was more than unnerving feeling the power of the animal under her, knowing that the creature had its own mind that could not be bent completely to its rider's will. With ships at least there was some warning of a storm, a horse however could bolt at any moment.

"Grima's unholy toe nails," Robin breathed, tightening her grip as Red surged into movement at a single click of Chrom's tongue.

The Ylissian prince chuckled, "has anyone told you that you curse strangely?"

"No, has anyone told you that you'll be bald before your forty with the amount of hair pulling you do?" then she smiled, "or that you pull a face like someone's punched you in the stomach whenever you're embarrassed or insulted?"

Chrom instantly tried to smooth his features into a more blank expression, "No…no one's ever told me that."

Robin laughed, and Chrom's lips relaxed into a smile. They waved as Lissa and Stahl cantered past, Lissa whooping and bobbing her tongue out at them while Stahl gripped her waist like his life depended on it (which it may very well do). The pair overtook Ricken and Frederick, who both called out to them, then issued a challenge to Gregor and Libra, the Knight of Themis gently attempting placate the Plegian Captain who was urging him to meet the princess' teasing.

"You are not what I was expecting, Prince Chrom," Robin beamed.

"Neither are you," Chrom replied, watching her smile from the corner of his eye.

…

"What are you doing, Mark?"

The boy for all intents and purposes ignored his mother, continuing to shuffle about in the bedding.

"Mark?" Morgan echoed, bobbing his head into the little nest of blankets Mark was burrowing.

"I'm cold," Mark huffed.

"So…you're trying to dig into out bed?" Morgan voiced perplexed.

"Mark," Kjelle sighed, scooping him out and ignoring the small yelp of protest as she did so, "What did I say about behaving?"

"I _am _behaving," Mark scowled, "It's not my fault that Plegia's cold."

"No, but it _is _your fault that I am running out of patience," Kjelle frowned back at him.

"Oh no, Marky-boy, your mother's got her scary face on," Morgan whispered then coloured as Kjelle's glare transferred to him, "I-I mean beautiful! Beautiful face….that's….mildly terrifying _and _I'll just get on with the continuing the story!"

Kjelle and Mark exchanged a look while Morgan desperately searched for his place.

…

They were gossiping again.

Not that Maribelle had any such inclination to pay heed to the vicious whisperings, but really _must _they be so blatant and uncouth in their slanderous endeavours? The words 'false sympathiser' and 'stuck-up' were bandied about between them like a group of children would candy. Maribelle knew precisely who they were speaking of, she didn't need to see the quick flickers of glances in her direction to verify it.

She sighed, readjusting the violin beneath her chin and taking up the bow again.

_She _was being mocked for doing something that someone in her position of power and responsibility _should _be obligated to do anyway. As Princess she had a duty to her people and their welfare, not the time to squander on petty gossip. And that made _her _the oddity. Really, one did wonder how the nobility had gained their higher station when any ounce of intelligence they possessed was deplorably wasted on lamenting the lack of taffeta in Maribelle's gown.

If only Sir Libra was still in her presence, although gentle-natured (almost to a fault, Maribelle thought imperiously) the man's imposing size and previous…checkered past did well enough to shoo away any persistent rumourmongers. She had not heard from him in quite some time. And to think, Maribelle had been under the impression that she had earned some merit of the Knight's respect. Perhaps he had been disillusioned by the little leeway Maribelle was _actually _making in realising her past declarations of equality.

Not that she was not trying. Maribelle was very much a creature of 'do' or 'do not'; there was no 'try' involved. But that very same forceful determination had isolated her among potential sympathisers. She could not stand pandering to their vanity and selfishness when there was so much else that could be and should be done. She was fighting an uphill battle alone, and her frustration with their attitude and her own lack of progress was showing. This time she did not have the calm tones of Sir Libra to soothe her biting tongue.

Hence why her father had fortified himself on the other side of the ballroom, safely defended by a wall of snivelling rabble that they both knew she had no intention of wading through. He had grown more incessant about that 'princess being rescued' nonsense of late. Maribelle simply did not have the time to entertain her father on the subject. That's why she'd invented the trials, it had been a useful excuse that none of her suitors had managed to meet her expectations instead of having to meet and entertain each one individually.

And yet, in the face of his daughter's dismissive response, the King of Themis had found other means to advance the situation. The Ball, or one of the many Balls, was unfortunately mandatory. Maribelle was encased in her finest gown, her blonde hair ribboned and groomed into neat spirals, pearls at her neck and in her ears, and a jewelled mask positioned perfectly over dark pink eyes. She was the picture of excellence the other masked nobility were aspiring to replicate as she stood with her violin against her chin upon the black and white tiles of the Ballroom. Or elegantly sipping at wine beneath long, arched stained glass windows or indifferently listing her gaze over the many clockwork contraptions her father had secured in an effort to impress the guests. The Princes came to speak to her (like they had at every Ball before this one, like they would at every Ball after) and were impatiently waved away. The women inquired about her tailor and they too were warded off with needle-sharp words. Yes, Princess Maribelle made quite the sight among the imperialistic stonework, clockwork novelties and fine dress; beautiful, poised and utterly _bored_ with it all.

"Ah," a voice cooed, "And there stands she! The very heavens would _weep_ with jealousy over your beauty, my dear."

Maribelle flicked her eyes down towards where an immaculately dressed page with a blonde bowl-cut was placing a small podium at her side, before respectfully stepping two paces back. Upon the podium sat a sky-blue velvet pillow, and upon that sat a small frog donning a white cravat. An odd scene to be sure, but one Maribelle had grown accustomed to. What still remained a mystery was how the Frog Prince of Roxanne managed to recline so regally when in possession of such a body.

"Virion," Maribelle's tone was sharp and smooth, "Charmed, at least I suspect _someone somewhere_ would be."

"Now, now Princess your words do wound me," the frog sighed.

"I should certainly hope so," she frowned, "If 'my words' had not done the deed then I would have been forced to resort to my parasol instead, and you know how father dislikes physical violence."

"Forgive me for saying," Maribelle's expression said quite clearly that she wasn't likely to forgive Virion for _anything_, so he hurried on before he was interrupted, "But, My Lady Maribelle, your incomparable beauty seems tinged with sorrow tonight. Does something trouble you; if that be the case do not hesitate to spill your breast to me, your most humble admirer."

"There isn't a shred of humility within you Prince Virion," Maribelle sniffed, "And I shan't be spilling anything in your presence besides scalding tea upon your head."

The frog's expression stretched into the closest approximation of a smug grin it could manage, "_Perhaps _I affect you more than you are willing to admit, Princess Maribelle?"

"Hardly," she scoffed, "As mentioned before, the only thing you affect is my gag reflex-"

Virion's page snickered into his hand at that.

"-and even then it's a superficial effort," Maribelle continued, "Pretty words, Virion, are all very nice but have little worth when freely given. You could attempt to charm me all day and yet at the end find yourself with nothing to show for such efforts than wasted time."

"Then a man of substance? Such a man could win Fair Princess Maribelle's heart?" Virion spoke in as serious a tone as a frog could manage.

Maribelle blinked, momentarily thrown off balance by the Frog Prince's suddenly grave attention. She looked to him, searching his tiny amphibian eyes for some sign that this too was a jest.

"….I," she paused, and began again, "…I would like someone who is also tired of all this…childishness and selfish greed! I would like to sit there and speak with another person about anything be they politics or trivial matters such as the weather, and not be incensed by their blatant insincerity. I would like to fight _with_ our people _for _our people for a change, instead of always against them! Can you do such a thing, Prince Virion, are such acts within the realm of your flattery?"

It was quiet for a dreadful moment and an old horrible, self-conscious fear rose up in Maribelle that maybe she had been too loud. But no, the party continued on outside where she and Virion spoke; tinkling of wine glasses and the rise and fall of laughter, the string band drifting from one graceful piece to the next and all overlaid by the faint ticking of clockwork like an industrial heart.

"….Alas, I believe it may be," Virion answered, quieter than before, "The 'realm of flattery' as my dear Princess Maribelle so eloquently put, is precisely why I am in my current state-"

Maribelle felt a sharp sting of guilt at that, "Prince Virion, I did not mean-"

"No, no," the joviality was back in the frog's voice, "It is quite alright My Lady, you only spoke truths as is in your fiery nature and one of the many faucets to your refined beauty. I shall trouble you no more."

And with that the page bowed and collected his Prince, podium, pillow and all. Maribelle was left trapped somewhere between her guilt and being furious with herself over said guilt. Virion was such a cad! The circumstances over his transformation into his frog form had circulated the rumour mills from Roxanne to Themis for years; taking a powerful sorceress as a lover then promptly jilting her for 'greener pastures' had not been the man's wisest moment in a long list of unwise romantic entanglements. Except in this one he had paid dearly, losing his birth right to a cousin branch of his family who currently ruled. The fault was entirely his own and Maribelle did not sympathise with the flirtatious Prince in the least…yet when Virion spoke some profound regret over his decision lingered somewhere between the flattery.

She huffed to herself, re-arranged her hair then finally at her wits end with the long list of social impediments, began to smartly march in the direction he'd fled to. Only to be halted halfway there by a commotion at the doors. A shocked gasp sounded to Maribelle's right, a gaggle of Themis noblewomen sweeping back in a flurry of ball gowns and gaudy jewellery.

Irritated, Maribelle turned to ask them precisely what the issue was when another gasp sounded to her left.

"Is it truly him? We've not seen him in near a month now?" a moustached man intoned.

"It must be, Arnaud. That bearing is unlike any other," his companion muttered, "But why the return? I had thought him fled from Themis for good."

"Surprising that the man chose to darken the Palace halls again," Arnaud replied in repulsed tones, "Just because the Princess dresses him as one of us, does not change the fact that the man is a baseborn barbarian."

"Kindly hold your tongue Sir," Maribelle snapped instinctively, "Before I remove it! Sir Libra is a greater man than-"

She stopped, the pieces finally clicking together with a mental snap. Sir Libra. Maribelle's eyes widened as she slowly turned in the direction the men (now cowed and attempting to slink away) had gestured. There, under the marble archway and silhouetted by the blaring light of lanterns was a party of eight. She saw none at first other than her Knight, his blonde hair and cream armour pure when contrasted against the blood red that was currently in fashion. Reflexively Maribelle's lips pulled into a small smirk, answered by Libra's gentle smile.

It _was _him.

He had not abandoned her.

She had not lost his faith.

She was not alone in this.

The sudden rush of elation had Maribelle crossing to the entryway in five brisk paces. She pulled up short before him, the huge skirt of her gown flying about her feet a moment before settling sharply back in place just as Maribelle's gaze did. Ever the gentleman, Libra merely bowed and upon straightening smiled down at her the way a father would his child.

"My Lady Maribelle, I apologise for the delay, truly. I found my efforts to return…waylaid," at this, the Knight's cheeks blushed slightly with shame, "But I have returned to you."

"That you have," Maribelle breathed, "And not a minute too late."

Her anger came rushing in then, "Where have you _been! _I have sprouted, at the very least, sixteen grey hairs awaiting your return! You are a Knight of Themis, if you should find yourself astray again at least have the decency to write least I lose my mind to worry!"

"I, I am sincerely sorry," Libra stuttered.

"As you should be!" Maribelle scolded, "Have you any idea what it was like being about these brutes without you present! I should like an explanation and _promptly_, my good sir!"

Another man pushed to the forefront of the group at that, tall, blue-haired and in possession of clean, strong features. Handsome, of course, but Maribelle spent much of her time in the company of handsome men and as a result found that his appeal had little effect. He was dressed in blue armour, his breastplate shining silver and a cape hung over his broad shoulders that fluttered about the knee high boots like caught butterfly wings. What was perhaps the most distinctive thing about the man was the impression he made, confident but amiable the type of person you instinctively turned to when in a crisis.

"I believe we can shed some light on that, Princess Maribelle," he said, "Sir Libra has been most helpful in guiding us into the palace."

Any positive impression the man had made went flying out the window at his words. So _that _was the man's game then, and the reason behind Libra's delayed return no doubt!

"Ruffian!" Maribelle took a firm grip of her parasol, "You _dare_ try to kidnap a knight of Themis and bargain your way into the Palace! Well, I assure you Sir I have no misgivings about delivering a sharp lesson to beasts such as yourself!"

"Wait!" the man held up his hands in the universal sign of surrender just as Maribelle reared her arm back, "Hold, My Lady! We never attacked Sir Libra, we found him unconscious and-"

"And decided to take advantage of his vulnerability, no doubt!" she fumed.

"No! I would never-_we_ would never! Now _hold on_," he fumed, "do you believe me and my friends are the sort of people to take advantage of an injured man!"

At this another member of the group (a group that was either closing in to defend the young man but couldn't work a word in edgeways, or was struck mute in shock by the reception) slid before him. The distinctive pure white hair identified her as Plegian immediately, Maribelle had seen the shade nowhere else. But she was by far the most attractive Plegian Maribelle had ever seen. Open-faced beauty compared to the suspicious miens of her countrymen, kindness in the warmth of her brown eyes and an intelligence to the neat brows. She was donned in a cloak with a heavy bear fur mantle, a contrast that made her fine features that much more delicate.

When she spoke it was soothing and persuasive, and without conscious thought Maribelle found herself listening, "_Please_, My Lady. We mean no harm."

Seeing that Maribelle had cooled somewhat, the woman continued, "Our group was greeted by the mage Ricken who had performed a spell that he was unable to undo, we cured Sir Libra of his enchanted sleep and asked if he could guide us to the castle. There was no harm done nor ever the intention to cause harm, I promise you."

Maribelle's eyes flickered over the woman's shoulder to her blue-haired companion, who gave a sincere but unyielding nod.

"Libra," Maribelle turned sharply to her Knight (he, at least, could without a doubt be trusted completely), "do they speak the truth?"

"They do," he nodded gently, "If it had not been for Lady Robin and Lady Lissa, I would not be standing before you today."

Maribelle sighed. She had lost control of her composure, so protective over the single valued friend she had that she'd rushed to his defence when there was no need of one. Maybe she was so used to facing opposition that she was seeing it everywhere. Or maybe she was merely making excuses for her rash and unjust behaviour. She had accused them of such terrible things when all they had done was offer aid, truly insulting the man (if the rise in his anger had been any indication) with her barbed words when he deserved no such treatment.

How could she combat the injustices of her country when she couldn't even thank her friend's rescuers? How could she claim to champion the goodness of people, when it seemed that she no longer believed it existed?

"You have my apologies," Maribelle spoke, "and my thanks, for returning my Knight and friend to me. Most would have passed him by, when you did not."

"Oh," the woman's cheeks coloured, "That's most kind but really we only did what anyone else would do."

"Nonsense," Maribelle waved her off, "Introductions, though, would be appreciated."

"Right," the blue-haired man nodded, "I'm Prince Chrom of Ylisse, and this is my younger sister Princess Lissa-"

"Hi!" a pretty blonde waved energetically. Lissa was perhaps the sunniest person Maribelle had ever laid eyes upon, her dainty features and big, blue eyes in perpetual motion as she broadcasted her feelings to those around her. As if to replicate the optimistic demeanour her dress was a bright yellow and adorned with ribbons, big and cutesy as the girl's grin.

"-these are my royal guard, Sir Frederick and Sir Stahl."

"Greetings, My Lady," the larger man nodded his head respectfully. His voice was deep and orderly, just like the man himself if the carefully tied bowtie was any indication. He was huge, larger even than Libra, his hair kept in neatly groomed waves and the contours of his face strong and frank.

"Afternoon," the other knight smiled. At a guess, Maribelle was inclined to believe that this Sir Stahl was the younger brother of Sir Frederick. They had the same wavy brown hair, though the younger Knight's was desperately in need of some styling (the man looked as though he'd just rolled out of bed and _left_ it that way!). Sir Stahl's face was open and friendly compared the other Ylissian Knight, something welcoming about the warm smile that put her in mind of fresh baking.

"Charmed, I'm sure," Maribelle murmured giving the Ylissians a nod before turning her attention to the others, "And who might you all be?"

"I am Princess Robin of Plegia, with me is Captain Gregor of the House Thorfin," Robin gestured to a huge man with spiky hair and square features. He grinned and sketched something of a bow. He appeared rather…solid, large in stature, size and likely personality also.

"And this is one of your own citizens I believe, Ricken the Mage-"

"Y-your majesty!" Ricken interrupted, scrambling past Robin to elegantly bow before Maribelle (his hat flopping forward then back as he did so), "I understand how much you've done for the people of Themis but there's an issue I _really_ need to speak to you about!"

Ricken's frantic declarations had only caused the already sizable crowd surrounding them to swell. In this Maribelle could not fault her 'guests', the royal family's infamous bodyguard had returned and with some aristocratic tag-a-longs no less. Unfortunately, that did not mean that the attention was wanted. The whispers swirling about them like a chilled breeze were only growing in intensity, and Maribelle was _not _over keen on the way the Themis nobles' eyes lingered on Prince Chrom, Princess Lissa and Princess Robin as if they were exotic sweets to be sampled.

This group had performed a great service in returning Libra to her, and for that they should be rewarded not…ogled! As if sensing the swift predatory interest in the high-born members of the group, the adventuring party had begun to close ranks.

"She's very pretty, and the younger one too. I think I have a son about the blonde's age and the Plegian, of course, would more than suffice for myself."

"Prince Chrom did they say? I had heard that his swordsmanship is quite renowned…though it does make one wonder if he's as skilled with _other_ swords."

"Striking! Very Striking! Can't say I'm all too picky on gender. Can you imagine possessing all three! Oh, the Ylissians are siblings? A pity, still there's two who aren't blood-related and I can't imagine them-"

"That is enough!" Maribelle hissed, rounding on the masked spectators, "Should I hear another foul word flapping on those idle tongues of yours, I assure you I will remove the tongue _myself_! These are my guests, and will not have them slandered like they were nothing more than…than a piece of meat!"

The nobles glanced guiltily away, many of them fussing with their clothes as if to divert Maribelle's scathing glare away. Still they lingered though.

"Well, then be gone!" at her words, the nobles slid away towards corners to gossip about the display or stare at the visiting royalty from what they considered a safer distance.

"Now then," Maribelle sighed before anyone could get a word in edgeways, "It is growing late, and I'd prefer this business concluded. So what is it you desire from me exactly?"

"Well-"Chrom began before he was interrupted.

"Late?" Robin's usually calm voice sounded suddenly tight with anxiety, "How late? It's so bright in here that I'd thought it only evening."

"No, no, it's closer to nightfall now," Maribelle answered, "In fact I daresay that it'll be upon us at any moment."

"Grima's rotten underbelly," Robin whispered, visibly sagging as she placed a hand against her suddenly paler face.

"Robin? Are you alright?" Chrom asked, bending slightly so he was at eye level.

Lissa hurried around to the Plegian's front, "Hey Robin, you don't look so good? If you're not feeling well just say the word, we'll sit down and let you catch your breath a moment, okay?"

"I…" Robin began but a groan of pain and the visible tightening of her jaw, halted anything else.

"Robin? Robin!" Lissa's voice was high with concern as the snowy haired woman collapsed boneless against her front.

Maribelle pulled back as several members of the group alternatively darted forward. Before anything else could be said about the woman's sudden unconscious, Gregor had rushed in with more speed than Maribelle had thought a man of that size could be capable of. Gently he untangled her from a worried Lissa's embrace then hoisted her up into his arms, Robin's head lolling against his broad shoulder and her feet trailing down.

"Princess need room now, yes?" the man addressed Maribelle.

She was too perplexed by the abrupt turn of events to do anything but nod dumbly.

"I will show you to a guestroom," Libra added gently.

Gregor just nodded once, expression serious as he began to carve through the gaggle of nobles in giant strides. Maribelle caught Libra's arm as he went to pass.

"Keep an eye on the Plegian," she whispered, "I have my suspicions, but if they are confirmed then the lovely princess may be more of a danger than she first appears."

Libra's pale blue eyes searched hers before he was calmly ushering Gregor up the marble stairs and away. Maribelle turned and smiled tightly at the Ylissians, though the effect was rather lost when all of them were gazing at the direction Gregor had left in with varying levels of concern. Sensing that she was not going to experience the most…receptive conversation there, Maribelle turned to the young mage. Maribelle fully expected a request from the Ylissians, and would admit to being at least marginally curious as to what it would be. She'd have to wait until Libra and Gregor returned before she could get her answers, in more ways than one.

**A/N:**

**Okay, introduction of Maribelle who I love mainly because her shouting "Troglodyte" is (like Frederick's "Pick a God and Pray") one of the things I love hearing in battle. The attention of the nobles isn't just for flattery, the group still need to win at Maribelle's trials and the Themis nobilities 'wandering eyes' will play their part.**

**It looks like the reviewers have spoken, and all future chapters will include Morgan and Mark with probably some more visits to/from other future children families, thank you very much to everyone who got back to me on that (:**

**Reviewer Replies (and can I say, that's the most reviews I've had between chapters thus far :D):**

**Radio-Blaze: ****Thank you very much for the review! And the thing with Kellam, not so much because he's bad but just because he's never been one of my favourites; but I never considered changing him to thief class so I'll have to give it a try on my next play through (: Who doesn't love Stahl XD The guy's impossible to hate, he's exactly the type of person I'd want my little sister to marry! On a last note about your writing, if that's something you want to do I say go for it! I mean I'm thoroughly enjoying writing this, and at least I'd be interested in reading it.**

**The Shadow Rider: ****Thank you very much for the review :D As for Stahl and Lissa, at the moment it's purely Stahl with ****_romantic _****feelings although Lissa has admitted to considering Stahl one of her closest allies; so poor Stahl is stuck in the friend zone for the moment ):**

**A Shadow's Lament: ****Thank you very much for both reviews, they were so complimentary I'm not really sure what else to say than they were very much appreciated and put a smile on my face for the rest of the day! I'd never considered Sumia and Stahl as a pairing although thinking on it I can definitely see how well it'd work; only issue is I already have a Sumia OTP that I've never shaken off XD The reassurance on Robin I was also very grateful for; because Robin isn't as ****_quirky _****as some of the other Fire Emblem characters I always worry that she may be considered boring (although the same could be said for Stahl, and he's got plenty of fans) so reading that you were enjoying her was a massive boost (:**

**Zarelyn: ****Thanks for the review! I'm glad the info was helpful last chapter, I'm debating doing one on the countries in this AU (and possibly the people who live there) next chapter, glad to know you're going through Libra/Tharja as it's my favourite of the Tharja supports (: I don't know about you but like Cordelia I find pairing Tharja with anyone difficult because I still feel like they love Chrom/Robin more than their own husbands…**

**Sparks101: ****Thanks for the review! Owain and his twins will be dropping round for a visit in a future chapter, and I can't imagine Inigo doing anything ****_but _****spoiling his kids rotten XD **

**Also big thank you to everyone who's read, followed and favourited this!**


	8. A Plegian Problem

**A/N: This chapter….nearly killed me, I swear -.- An explanation for the late update (sorry for that to everyone waiting on Friday) is in order, someone (cough-evil older sibling whose laptop is broken at the moment so keeps commandeering emmine/em-cough) deleted the Word File I'd written the original copy of this chapter and the next one in so when I opened the folder on Friday it was gone. Cue frantically scouring my laptop, moping when I finally faced the fact that I'd have to write it all again and then desperately trying to get it done by the end of Friday. Lesson learned and I'll have to save a copy on my E-Mail account in future, but I can only apologise for the delay.**

**Also this chapter is a continuation of the previous one, hence why this has no opening Morgan/Mark scene and the one before had no ending Morgan/Mark scene; so they are still in Plegia and Mark has still taken refuge from sharing a room with Charu in his parents' bed.**

Plegian Problems

There were very few things on Earth that could stop the young Prince of Ylisse once he was (in the words of his old tutor) 'on a mission'. Most who knew him, did not try. At times Chrom wondered if _he_ could even stop himself should he find the path he was determinedly marching down to end only in disaster.

He fervently hoped his current endeavour would not prove to be so disastrous, such as the remainder of the Themis Ball had been. There was only a certain amount of _accidental_ brushing of his backside that Chrom could stomach, and if one more member of the Themis nobility had inquired about Lissa's age and/or marriage prospects Chrom was not entirely sure he'd have been able to avoid bloodying someone's nose. Fortunately at that moment there were no twittering nobles in sight. There was _no one_ in sight, to be precise.

Sometimes Chrom had found himself wishing for a moment of silence, after a particularly harrowing battle or argument or a visit from a political contingent. This was no such time. The Themis palace did not breathe the same way as his home in Ylisstol did, the air here more stifled and weighed down by the heady scent of floral perfume. Each corner of the winding hallways, from ceiling to floor, were decorated in some ensemble of extravagance; be it those odd clockwork machinery polished to a shine and on display behind a sheet of glass, or ornamental amour or portraits of pinched-faced Royalty that spanned wider than Frederick was tall. Chrom thought it mostly clutter, he could not see the sensibility in blocking a hallway with clusters of vases should the Palace come under attack. Lack of appeal aside though, the decoration was useful in acting as something of a path marker.

He turned another corridor, saw the same glass swan he'd spotted three turns past and cursed. This was taking far longer than he'd anticipated when he'd asked the servant who'd come to fill their bath where Princess Robin's room was located. He knew the logical (the _proper_ thing) to do now would be to turn back and pretend that the thought of skulking about the Palace at night hadn't even entered his mind. But when had Chrom ever chosen the _proper_ over what he felt he had to do. And checking on the condition of Robin just _felt _like something he _had_ do.

Personal curiosity aside (and there was plenty), he'd never seen the woman look so…fragile, the drastic change from someone who'd been something of a comforting constant over the past weeks had shocked the young prince more than he dared admit. She'd looked so small when Gregor had hoisted her up and away that he'd been unable to think of little else throughout the rest of the Ball. It hadn't been the cursory straying of thoughts that had suddenly afflicted him recently (such as 'I wonder what she's laughing about?', 'I wonder what it is she's reading?' or 'does she think me a brash fool?') it had been the deep-seated, gnawing concern of seeing a friend in a bad position and being unable to help them.

He turned a corner again but hastily ducked back behind it at the sound of muffled, raised voices and wood scrapping across marble floors. Chrom's hand tightened on his sword (still sheathed of course) and his jaw tightened in anticipation of discovery. He wasn't doing anything wrong. He had full permission to visit the other guest rooms and the thus far haughty Themis Princess had sharply informed them all that the guest wings were under the highest protection anyway (since he'd seen no guards, he had the sneaking suspicion that _they _being protected from intrusive Themis nobility). But for reasons he did not quite understand Chrom felt though he was up to something he shouldn't be. It was likely why he'd waited until everyone else was asleep and why he was clumsily attempting to keep to the shadows.

Another sound of stifled scuffle sounded and Chrom narrowed his eyes, attempting to pin-point which of the arched doors it was originating from. A thump at his back had him darting forward, another curled his fingers tighter about his sword's hilt. Through the milky semi-darkness of the hallway Chrom peered at the door he'd rested against, noting the way it seemed to vibrate on its hinges.

"What the…?" he breathed.

Apprehension shrouded him like a cloak as carefully he crept forward and placed the flat of his palm against the wood. It jerked as if shying away from his touch. Whatever was happening, it was happening in that room. Chrom rounded his shoulders and moved to march forward when another more recognisable sound stopped him dead. A growl, low and muted and heavy with the promise of violence. If this was Robin and Gregor's room (as he suspected) whatever was stuck in there with them could not be harmless.

A wave of sickly concern plugged his throat as Chrom launched himself at the door and swung it open, his shoulder planted firmly against it and his sword already singing halfway out its sheath. He'd barely managed a step when another body was pushing him back. Chrom was forced to dance backwards in an effort to keep his feet under him as Gregor rocked back against his chest and lurched forward again. A smell came sweeping in from the room inside, a smell that reminded Chrom of icy, salt waters and the ozone crackle of magic. He gagged before he could get the rest of his bearings straight.

Then suddenly Gregor was shoving him forward and shouting, "In, Princeling! Close door! Close door!"

Another growl, this one far louder and close enough that Chrom could feel it rattle along his ribcage like a breeze through wind chimes. The sleeves of Gregor's tunic brushed against his face as the man swung Chrom around and slammed the door closed with a sense of finality. And only then could Chrom gauge exactly what it was he'd unwittingly stumbled into.

Not that it made much sense when he did get a good look about him.

"A _bear_!" he yelled at Gregor, "There is a _bear_ your room! _Why_ is there a _bear_ in your room!?"

The creature in question rumbled another roar, curling its black lips back to reveal rows of teeth larger than Chrom's pinkie. Its fur was a pure white, powerful muscles rippling underneath as the beast lunged forward again and was mercifully snagged back by a chain secured about its chest. The lines of its head were elegant, framing two large brown eyes and rounded ears flat against its neck as the beast rumbled and prowled. For a creature renowned for sheer strength, the creature managed to look leaner, swifter than its brown-furred brethren. There was no such kind of bear native to Ylisse, but he had seen illustrations of them roaming the snowy tundra of Plegia. That still did not explain why Gregor had one in his room.

"Wait…"Chrom frowned, "Where's Robin!? Has that beast eaten her!?"

"Oy, oy, oy! Princeling stop with the shouting now, yes?" Gregor sent him a quelling look, crossing his massive arms across his chest.

Chrom's frown only deepened, his eyes darting to where the bear tugged at its chains as if he were eager to leap in and pull Robin from the creature's stomach.

Gregor sighed heavily and massaged a hand over his jaw, when he spoke his voice was tired, "Princess….Princess _is _bear."

"What?" Chrom gaped.

Gregor nodded, "Hm, old curse. Every firstborn of each generation in Plegian Royal family turn into bear; older they get, longer it lasts until Princess will not be able to think anymore. Is why she locked herself in Tower, dangerous for her to be around people when like this. Stronger and faster than average bear, can kill man dead in one blow."

"She…"Chrom searched for the words but they did not come.

What exactly _was _he supposed to say? Curses were not uncommon in the world they lived, but they were often deserved. Robin had committed no crime except being born into Plegian Royalty and yet she had to suffer. What must that be like? To know you were slowly losing more and more of yourself as each year passed, to constantly be wary around others because _you_ may cause them harm, to have no future but the one that had been preordained for you before even your birth and to _know _that there was no way out of it. Chrom felt a rush of sympathy, and yes shame in some small way. He wasn't sure how he could of but Chrom felt he _should _have known, should have done something.

It was easier than dealing with the shock. Everything he'd known about Robin had been wrong; which admittedly hadn't been much but it had been enough to gain an idea of her, a solid picture in his mind that said 'this is Robin, and she is intelligent and beautiful and kind'. It felt to Chrom as though the bottom of that image had fallen out beneath it and he had no idea of how to scramble about for the remaining shards. Part of him...out of sheer stubbornness or perhaps blind, deaf ignorance, did not want to accept that he'd been wrong. So he closed his ears to that for the moment and did as he did best, pushed for a way forward.

"Is there any way to break it?" he turned to Gregor, his face taking on a determined edge, "The curse, I mean."

"No," he frowned, "Princess smartest woman I know and still no cure to be found. Princess' father, the old King Validar, searched for cure too but went mad and hurt many people. Now Princess' aunt rules Plegia, and Princess has given up right for throne."

"But that doesn't mean there isn't one!" Chrom argued vehemently, "She can't just give up and lock herself away from the world!"

Gregor's gaze sharpened so suddenly that Chrom, despite all his righteous frustration, flinched.

"Princeling not listening," the huge man rumbled, "Princess not have much time, curse get worse each year and Princess get more dangerous to be around. What if she return to Palace, what if she turn there and injure friends or family?"

"Chrom barely opened his mouth but Gregor overrode him instantly.

"Princeling be thinking Princess a coward, hiding away from world in Tower, yes? Well Princess not have luxury of choice," he pulled himself to his full height, towering over Chrom, "This a Plegian problem."

Gregor had been nothing but amiable (if rather heavy-handed) thus far that Chrom found himself stunned by the man's defensive behaviour. It was clear that he thought he was protecting Robin though Chrom chaffed at the notion that Robin would _need _protecting from him. He'd thought they were a group but Gregor's attitude had shown that there was or perhaps always had been lines in the sand that the Ylissian members could not cross. This invisible distance threw the young prince into doubt. He understood that maybe Robin's intentions had been to shield them from such dark secrets but were they not trustworthy? His fists clenched at his sides. Apparently they were not, or at least not enough so that she could trust them with unveiling her demons.

The sting of betrayal was unwanted but there nonetheless. He knew it was childish, even selfish, and still…

Why hadn't she said anything?

Because nothing could be done. Unburdening her issues on them would have achieved nothing but added worry, and what he knew of Robin indicated that she would save others from concerning themselves with her own wellbeing at all costs. For as much good as it would do her! She could not be Robin, could not be so easily likeable, and then expect to be absent from thoughts of those she touched. On the other hand, was Robin not allowed her own secrets? Who was he to demand that she reveal everything about herself merely because he felt it was owed? Chrom's thoughts listed round in circles and still he had no certainty on what he thought of the situation beside one issue. He couldn't let her just resign herself to her fate. He wasn't sure how he'd show her but he'd find a way to prove that her destiny was _not _set in stone.

"Regardless," Chrom began, his voice quiet but strong, "there _must _be a way to break the curse, there's always a way to overcome it."

Gregor watched him sidelong, his head turned towards the white bear, "Princeling not be saying word in morning."

"What?" Chrom snapped.

"Gregor make promise to Princess not to reveal curse, Gregor broken promise but not much Gregor can do about that now, yes?" he sighed, "Princess is…shamed about curse, knowing that Princeling knows would only hurt her. So Princeling will keep quiet.

"I can't just pretend that this never happened," Chrom replied hotly, "And even if I were to do so, that wouldn't change anything. I need to talk to Robin and show that she can't just resign herself to being a monster!"

"Monster?" Gregor's gaze was glacial as it cut towards Chrom, "that what Princeling think, huh? That Princess a monster?"

"No! Of course not! I didn't mean it that way!"

The two men glared at one another for what felt like an obscene amount of time. Chrom came to the sickly conclusion that he didn't know anything about Gregor. He'd been travelling with the man for weeks and this interaction just highlighted how little he understood him. He didn't understand the way he thought, the way he acted nor the way he felt. What would Emmeryn had done? The blooming doubt in his chest only grew when Chrom realised that he had no idea how his older sister would have handled this situation. Better than he was handling it, clearly.

With great effort Chrom unclenched his jaw and slowly loosened his bruising grip on his sword, "This is going nowhere fast, I'll leave for now."

"Princeling swear not to mention this to Princess," Gregor chipped in as Chrom turned to the door.

"I won't, I _can't _swear to that Gregor," Chrom squared his shoulders, his blue eyes searching the wood of the door before him, "Not when I think there may be some other way…but I won't mention it for now."

He earned no further reply from the Plegian, so with a stiff nod of farewell Chrom swung the door open and crept back to his room.

...

"Dad?"

"Hrmm?"

"Mom's snoring."

Morgan blinked, looking up from the page to spy his wife, hair rumpled from sleep and curled onto her side with one arm flung around Mark's tiny waist, snoring softly. Gone was the hard edge Kjelle possessed when awake, that steeliness to her jaw that declared to the world that she was not one to be trifled with, and all that remained was a softness that echoed the bloom in Morgan's own chest. It was a sight he had seen many times and after so many years of marriage one that did not bring about the same sense of awe he had experienced upon first witnessing it. The rush of affection hadn't lessened though; call him a sentimental fool but Morgan still felt a slight giddiness at the knowledge that this was a side of Kjelle that only few were privileged to indulge.

"Yes, she does do that doesn't she?" he smiled.

"You'll have to read quietly," Mark informed him sternly, "or you'll wake her up."

"I had no intention of doing otherwise, Marky-boy," Morgan winked, "We both know what your mother's capable of when you pull her out of her beauty sleep."

Mark snorted, "But she doesn't have anything to throw at you this time, dad."

"Oh I doubt that'd stop her," Morgan paled, "Your mother can do terribly inventive when she wants to be..._terribly _inventive."

"Now," he shook himself slightly, "let's get back to the story and keep our voices down, shall we…."

...

Lissa was not a mind reader, but she didn't need to be to tell something was _up _that morning. She wasn't sure what it was exactly but her brother had never been proficient in concealing his feelings and if he stared at Robin and Gregor any more intensely the Plegians were going to go up in flames. Gregor was staring back, his huge arms crossed over his chest and his expression stone. It was just the sort of vaguely threatening bearing that had sent Frederick's protective streak into overdrive, and the Great Knight had flanked Chrom's side like a second shadow since the Eggs Benedict had been served.

Robin, however, was clueless.

"Was it something I said?" the snowy-haired woman whispered, darting her eyes towards Chrom who (upon being caught watching her again) flushed and made a grand show of shovelling food into his mouth, "Everything was fine yesterday, I mean there was that incident at the Ball-"

"What _was _that about anyway?" Lissa whispered back, "You just fainted outta nowhere, you really freaked everyone out."

"I'm sorry," Robin flushed, "I didn't mean to worry anyone. I just…felt a little lightheaded."

Lissa snorted, "It's probably all the perfume those snooty nobles were wearing. Y'know this morning someone called my dress _rustic_, what does that even mean Robin?"

Robin chuckled, "Not a lot, unfortunately."

Lissa laughed at that, "You can say _that _again! Hey, can you pass me the butter?"

Robin easily complied, reaching out to snag herself another serving of the ridiculously shaped Themis bread as she did so. For all their silly extravagance, Lissa had to hand it to Themis they knew how to put on a good spread. No sooner had she woken up, there had been several polite knocks at her door before her room had been invaded by a trio of identical (as far as Lissa could tell) maids in gaudy outfits of gold and pink and _way _too many bows. Lissa had been bustled and plucked and prettied despite her protests, and then all three had escorted her to the Breakfast table where her companions were looking equally groomed and flustered. Don't get her wrong, Lissa enjoyed a little pampering as much as the next girl but she'd never had her eyebrows _buffered _before that morning.

But before Lissa's indignation could truly sink in, she'd been distracted by the food. Wafts of fresh cooking bread seeped into the room, silver plates with curling floral designs had been piled high with exotic fruits, and Lissa had never seen so many flavours of Jam some of which she could not even pronounce. Navigating around the dollies and lace tablecloth had proved a challenge, but well worth the effort when she'd taken a bite of a parcel wrapped in a thin, delicate pastry and the fruit filling inside had burst in her mouth, oozing tart-sweetness over her tongue.

Lissa pushed her chair out slightly so she pat at her stomach with her hands, "I tell ya Robin, if they keep feeding us like this I'll be obese by the time we leave."

"I doubt that," Robin smiled, "You'd burn it off with all that bouncing around you do."

""Y'know…"Lissa grinned, "I _knew _there was a reason I liked you Robin."

"Good to know I'm being appreciated," Robin answered with a small lilt to her lips that Lissa had come to signify as Robin's 'sarcasm face'.

A bout of shrill laughter sounded from the far end of the table and Lissa turned her glare in that direction. She wasn't sure how those noblewomen had managed to slip past Princess Maribelle's defences but she sure as hells wished they hadn't. The flock of five women, all stuffed into those stupidly huge dresses and their smiles stiff under heavy makeup, were ruining a perfectly good breakfast. At first they'd attempted to bother Chrom but upon finding him largely unresponsive (since he was alternating between glaring at Gregor and sneaking glances at Robin) they'd finally given up. Lissa just wished they hadn't decided to bother the Ylissian Knights instead. Frederick had firmly rebutted them but Stahl had shown hesitation, and as a result the young Knight was currently the axis of the giggling, perfumed group.

But why were they throwing themselves at _Stahl _anyway?

Yeah, Lissa could admit the Knight was _kind of _cute, with his messy hair and effortlessly warm smile. And yeah, Stahl had a way of putting someone at ease; just being around him was reassuring in a manner that Lissa could not aptly explain. And okay, Stahl was kind of funny and kind of sweet and more than a little hopeless. But since when did people like _them _care about stuff like that! All they'd asked him about was his family name and his inheritance and made stupid, vapid giggling noises at all his dumb jokes.

"Lissa," the Princess in question startled as Robin gently prodded her then smiled before she asking, "I'm not entirely sure what the tablecloth's done but I think it _may _have suffered enough."

Lissa blinked down at her hands, only now noticing that she'd been twisting the fluttery material so vehemently that it'd ripped in several places.

"Shoot!" Lissa hastily pulled her hands back, "Quick Robin help me hide the evidence!"

"I'm not sure-"she didn't get to finish as Lissa was already stuffing her arms full of torn cloth, "…Okay, but I'm not going down for this you hear."

"Pshh," Lissa grinned, "If they're gonna lock me away, I'm taking you with me."

"One of the many perks of joining the sisterhood, I guess?" Robin chuckled and shook her head, before inquiring, "What had you so aggravated in the first place?"

"Nothing," Lissa snapped then immediately caved at the concern in Robin's eyes, "Just…Arghh, those stupid women are all sniffing around Stahl like he's some…some…I dunno, some _thing _stupid women sniff around! They aren't even listening, in fact I bet if I told them all that Stahl's family were really poor nobodies, they probably wouldn't bother to give him even a millisecond of their time!"

Robin blinked mutely, shocked by the outburst.

"And look at the stupid lug! Can't he tell what they're up to? Why doesn't he just tell them to go away so we can all eat in peace?" Lissa huffed in breath, winded somewhat by her tirade.

"Lissa…"Robin began carefully, "….are you perhaps jealous?"

Lissa's entire face heated at the suggestion. She couldn't be jealous! This was Stahl, he'd been a good friend and Lissa was merely looking out for him in return. She wasn't _jealous_ or anything, that didn't even make any sense!

"Jealous!? No way, nuh-uh, not in a million years missy! I am _not _jealous of Stahl, I'm just…worried that he's going to be taken for a ride that's all," she nodded briskly and folded her arms, satisfied that such a strange question had been put to rest.

Robin merely gave her another look, one that was not intrusive but still perceptive enough to make Lissa's cheeks flare with heat though she had no idea why. She almost sighed with relief when the double doors at the head of the room flew open and in marched Maribelle. The princess of Themis' walk was business-like, her expression pinched and no-nonsense as she surveyed her guests, Libra's presence at her side gentling the woman's severe regard.

"I trust you all slept well and the food was to your liking," Maribelle began, soldiering on before anyone could answer, "but I haven't the time or patience to allow you all to dawdle anymore. Due to my father's insistence this ridiculous fiasco will begin in no less than five minutes in the Ballroom, I expect you _all _to be there promptly and not a second late. Anyone late will be immediately disqualified."

Lissa hastily stuffed her cheeks with what was left of her breakfast (and some of Robin's) before bouncing up to follow the woman who'd turned sharply and was already striding away again. Robin followed at her left, Stahl disentangling himself from his prior 'company' with the speed of a man escaping the chopping block.

"Lady Maribelle's as warm as ever," Stahl murmured to them.

"I don't know," Robin mused, "I quite admire her, like Sir Libra said she may be sharp but the effort she's put into seeing that her people receive equal rights is very impressive."

"Yeah," Stahl smiled and sighed, "I just wish she wouldn't look at us like we're something she's stepped in, right Lissa?"

Lissa frowned.

"Lady Lissa?" Stahl echoed, "Are you alright?"

"Fine! I'm fine!" Lissa replied sharper than she'd intended.

A look of hurt passed over Stahl's face and brought about a pang of guilt. He'd done nothing wrong and still Lissa couldn't help being irritated with him. The young knight raised an eyebrow at Robin who shrugged in reply to his silent question. Before she could feel excluded by the exchange though, Lissa felt a gentle tug on her sleeve as Robin threaded her fingers through Lissa's. The Ylissian princess almost blinked, touched and surprised by the show of support in a way she could not fully express beyond tightening her hold.

They travelled the rest of the way in silence, until at last their group was once again milling about on the black and white marble tiles of the Ballroom. The place made Lissa uneasy. It was too big, too grand and too invasive, the groups of nobles whispering behind their hands to each other only keyed up her paranoia. A space had been apparently been cleared for those competing, and Lissa was somewhat surprised to discover they weren't the only ones. Upon a small velvet pillow sat a frog wearing, of all things, a lacy cravat.

"Prince Virion of Roxanne," Robin whispered upon noticing the subject of her attention, "don't let the fact that he's a frog fool you, the man's as wily as they come."

"You sound like you know him?" Stahl whispered from her other side.

"You…could say that," Robin smiled, "He only came to Plegia once, when I was young, and thrashed me in a chess match. Apparently he comes to participate in these trials every year, whenever he can."

"Even though he keeps failing them?" Lissa breathed.

"It would seem so," Robin replied softly, "Of course, due to his reputation, Princess Maribelle brushes him off every year but he keeps trying….it must be horrible to never escape your past reputation, whatever he does now all everyone's going to see is a womaniser."

"And is he?" Stahl asked, "A womaniser, I mean."

"Oh," Robin chuckled, "the _worst _one I've ever met!"

"_That's_ reassuring," Stahl muttered, glancing briefly at Lissa before his gaze quickly listed away.

"Don't worry," Robin smiled, "he won't do anything with Lady Maribelle here…at least I hope he won't. And even if he did I doubt he'd escape alive with Frederick scowling at everyone like he is."

Maribelle elegantly swept past them all, taking centre spot and holding her parasol firmly between two hands in a manner that reminded Lissa of a drill sergeant. Maribelle's dark pink eyes latched onto them all, and Lissa gulped. The woman was a little terrifying.

"Are you _all _competing?" she asked briskly.

It was only then that Lissa realised that there was quite a large group of them, and that most were just staring at her dumbly.

"Can't we?" Lissa asked, confused as to how this was going to work.

"I'll allow one guard but that's it, I can't have a whole rabble of you tripping over yourselves at each task," she sniffed, "It's just not practical."

"Oh…"Lissa breathed.

"We are competing," Robin stepped forward, "I, Princess Robin of Plegia and Princess Lissa and Prince Chrom of Ylisse."

"Three of you?" Maribelle's brows knit.

"We're all of royal blood, and there was nothing in the rules that said you had to be male nor anything about two competitors coming from the same country. We all get a guard too, right?"

Maribelle blinked. Lissa and Chrom were staring at the Plegian like she'd lost her mind while Gregor barked once with laughter.

Robin turned, smiled and shrugged at the Ylissians, "This way we've got a higher chance of succeeding."

Chrom gaped before he too was grinning, "That we do."

"I get it!" Lissa cheered, "Don't you worry Chrom, me and Robin'll back you up! Stahl! You're on my team!"

"Alright," he grinned.

"I will stand beside My Lord," Frederick added in sombre tones.

"Ah," Gregor grinned, "Then seems like Princess and Gregor are stuck together again. Gregor starting to think that Princess makes these plans so she can spend more time with him, hrmm?"

Robin feigned deafness and Lissa could not help the snorting laugh that bubbled up at Gregor's frankly childish pout.

After being organised into their respective groups, the four prospective rescuers and their guards stood shoulder to shoulder to await Princess Maribelle's inspection. The blonde gave them all a cursory once-over, her heeled shoes tapping against the marble floor and her pert nose lifted as she paced. Lissa resisted the urge to drum her fingers on her dress or pull faces but only barely.

"I _suppose_ you're all quite ready now, yes?" Maribelle eased to a stop with a smart clip of her heels.

"We are," Chrom answered.

"Undeniably," came the silky tones of the Frog Prince.

Lissa shot the smirking (and how in the hells was a frog _smirking_, anyways?) a fiery look. No way were she, Stahl, Chrom and Robin losing to some cravat-wearing dandy, frog or no! Just because they didn't smell like minted baths and sip tea with their pinkies out didn't mean they weren't cultured, and anyway even if they weren't they more than made up for it in other things! Plus Robin seemed pretty up on courtly manners and stuff if it came to that, and Lissa knew for a fact that Frederick was well-versed in the art of etiquette. So Prince Virion could suck it! She bobbed her tongue out at the Prince as a final declaration of war but her glare only intensified as Virion chuckled once under breath as if was dealing with a particularly stubborn child.

"Oh boy," Stahl breathed through an smile of fond exasperation, "this is going to be a long day."

"Anyone worthy of my hand must be noble of heart and soul," Maribelle began, "I will accept no other! There are certain qualities that mark those blessed with such attributes that make them stand out from the rest of the plebeian rabble-"

"I'm sure that could have been worded more…diplomatically," Robin murmured.

_"Diplomatically_?" Chrom whispered back, "I'll leave that to you, I just think it sounded plain rude."

Robin chuckled, "Although I agree with you Chrom, I wouldn't go voicing _that _opinion to Lady Maribelle, she's been wielding that parasol like blade all morning."

"Lady Maribelle's tongue scares me far more than a blade ever could," Chrom shivered.

Robin smiled, "Oh? The brave Prince of Ylisse _is _scared of something after all, huh? Well we mustn't let news like that get out, what would we do if everyone was to know that to topple the Mighty Kingdom of Ylisse all they needed to do was enlist Princess Maribelle to give you all a thorough finger-wagging."

Chrom smiled and turned to reply when a curious expression wavered over his face, his skin paled and his eyes widened as if he'd only just realised who it was he was speaking to. The Ylissian Prince gave an awkward, jerky nod before whipping his head back to the front so fast it was merely a blur of pale skin and blue hair. Robin frowned and sent a questioning look to him (which he studiously ignored) then to Lissa (who shrugged). Lissa didn't miss the brief expression of hurt that passed over Robin's face but as she moved to…to well do _something _to comfort her, Stahl tapped gently against her arm.

"What?" Lissa whispered, leaning up on her tip-toes so she could easier follow the Knight's line of sight.

Stahl flushed and pointed in the direction of Gregor, Gregor who glanced between Chrom and Robin with knitted brows. Lissa pushed herself up further, gripping Stahl's shoulder plate as she strained for some further insight into how Gregor's body-language slotted into the bizarre interaction between her brother and her friend.

"D-d-don't you think he looks a little suspicious? The way he was watching them like that, and the face he pulled after," Stahl muttered, his cheeks bright red by now, "I mean…erm, Lady Lissa no offence but you're…kind of…"

Lissa blinked.

Stahl doggedly avoided eye-contact but managed to gesture in her general direction. Which, in hindsight, didn't involve Stahl exerting a lot of effort on his part because she was practically glued to his side. Lissa felt the heat in her cheeks before anything else, the cursed blush acting as some discerning anchor even if she did not relish it at all! What was she _doing_? Clambering all over Stahl like a monkey _then _blushing like an idiot when he called her out on it. The smell of breakfast still lingered about him, baked bread and honey cakes wafting out on his warm breath.

Despite her embarrassment it took her longer to disengage herself that it really should have, "Oh wow! Sorry! I-er-didn't realise I was invading your personal space there, ha ha ha!"

'Stop laughing, oh Gods this is painful, why can't I stop laughing!?' she mentally berated herself, though that beat looking anywhere than at a fidgeting Stahl. She wasn't sure what to do with her hands, a dilemma that had never struck her before but suddenly seemed to matter a great deal.

"Don't worry about it," Stahl coughed into his fist.

Lissa smoothed out her dress, internally ordering herself to 'be cool' and shake off this absurd sense of self-consciousness. _Which _didn't make any sense anyway! This was Stahl for goodness sake, the same Stahl who'd turned up at Ylisstol some years ago, the same Stahl who'd shared apple pie pilfered from the Castle Kitchens with her, the same Stahl who had taken time out of his morning practices to chat with her every morning and the same Stahl who offered a friendly smile and wave whenever their paths had crossed during their daily lives as Knight and Princess.

Lissa had never been more relieved to hear Maribelle's sharp voice than at that moment.

"A man-or woman," Maribelle added upon sending a pointed look in Robin and Lissa's direction, "who I deem worthy of Themis should embody a princely mien that must be courteous, merciful, proud and strong. Only by striving for these can we truly serve the people that depend on our judgement and protection."

"Gregor getting bad feelings about this," the huge man muttered.

"Therefore!" Maribelle pivoted with a flourish, blonde ringlets spraying out around her like the yellow ribbons on her bodice, "You all shall undergo trials set by myself to test whether or not you possess the talents our noble blood demands of us. Those of you cowed by such a challenge will leave immediately, I will not gladly suffer fools and cowards when Themis' future hangs in the balance!"

No one moved, though Lissa suspected that it was probably because everyone was too scared to.

"Very well," Maribelle's smile was prim and daunting as she strode away towards another set of double-doors, "Follow me, if you will."

A great rush of giggling and gossiping nobles washed up towards her like a wave of beaded silks and floral perfume. Chrom and Frederick strode forward with all the sobriety and determination as the pair had when they faced the dragon at Robin's Tower. Robin and Gregor followed after, their gaits more sedate but no less prepared. The little frog prince smirked up at where Lissa floundered for a moment, before sketching her a regal bow.

"Good luck, my fair Lady," he smirked, chuckling to himself as the bobbed servant whisked him away.

Lissa's fists clenched. She didn't need luck, she was going to own this and no amount of snooty frog-princes were going to stand in her way! Everyone else had done all the work so far meanwhile Lissa had just 'tagged along'. Well she was done with that, hadn't her thinking behind joining Chrom on this quest been to prove that she was just as capable and grown-up as him. Well, this was her chance and she had no intention of wasting it. Drawing in a deep breath, Lissa rolled her back her shoulders and grinned at the arched doorway everyone was disappearing into.

"Come on, Stahl," she said, "Everyone's already written us off but we're going to show them there's a lot more to us both than meets the eye, right?"

He smiled back, all earlier awkwardness evaporated in the presence of that warm smile that had greeted her most mornings in Ylisstol.

"Right."

...

"And there's your lot for the night, Marky-boy," Morgan breathed as he eased the book closed and carefully shuffled about to place on floor beside the bed, "and that's a lot more than you usually get but since you don't have to get up for studies in the morning, it can't hurt."

"Mom says differently," Mark added.

"Your mother's snoring at the moment _and _I think it'd be wise to keep it that way, right?" Morgan winked.

Mark nodded once before rearranging to allocate Morgan's sleeping position. The tactician pulled the pillow further under his son's head then curled his body around Mark's, his arm brushing over his wife's as they held the red-haired boy snug between their shared embrace. Mark yawned hugely, neither fighting off nor pressing himself into the protective walls of his parents. Morgan dozed, waiting for Mark's dark eyes to finally drift closed before he allowed himself the same treatment.

"….Dad?"

"Hrmm?" Morgan murmured sleepily.

"When-"yawn, "-you were a kid, did you sleep in Grandma and Grandpa's bed like this?"

"When I was a kid I was in either their beds or my big sister's nearly every night until I was about twelve."

_"Twelve_?" Mark snickered, "Dad, you were _such _a big baby!"

Morgan chuckled, "Guilty as charged, Marky-boy…y'know my sister checked under my bed and in the wardrobe every night too, until my father sat me down and explained that there was no such thing as monsters. Both he, mother and big sister worked so hard trying to convince me that there was nothing to fear that I didn't have the heart to tell them that I wasn't scared of monsters at all, I just wanted to spend time with them. Besides I think big sister secretly liked playing champion to imaginary fiends."

Morgan laughed heavy with sleep, a laugh that soon became a yawn. It was quiet a moment and the tactician peeped an eye open to find his son regarding the ceiling with the serious expression that Morgan had become accustomed to seeing etched onto the young boy's face.

"….Dad?"

"Hrmm?" he smiled.

"Do…"Mark steeled himself before starting again, "Do you think _I'd _be a good big brother?"

Morgan blinked, "…Why? Do you _want _to be a big brother?"

Mark flushed, "No, not really…maybe a little bit. Well, Lou and Tris are always together and training together and stuff, and I thought that I dunno….I could teach my little brother how to ride a horse properly and joust and stuff, and then when you and mom get all old and your teeth fall out and stuff _I _could read this story to him."

"How old do you think Kjelle and I-" he sighed, "You've thought about this a lot haven't you?" Morgan mused.

"No! Just once or twice!" even in the half-light Morgan could tell that Mark's face was practically vermillion, "Besides, you had-"

"Mark, Morgan."

Both males stilled at the sound of the third voice. Kjelle drew an eye open to give both her boys their first (and last) warning look.

"Go to sleep."

They did exactly that, or feigned it at least in hopes that that would satisfy her. Even Mark, proud and defiant to the end, did not stare utter a sound.

"And Mark," Kjelle grumbled, "We're not that old."

...

**A/N:**

**Shorter than most other chapters but hopefully that's understandable given afore-mentioned reasons. A few chapters back I did something of a guide on pairing hints in this thus-far, as something of a peace offering and a further apology for late update this time I've done one on the children _of_ future children (including ones that haven't shown up in the fic yet).**

**They are:**  
><strong>-Mark, red-haired and brown-eyed son of Morgan and Kjelle. Prince of Feroxi and something of a prodigy when it comes to horsemanship. Hero-worships his mother (though he wouldn't tell her so directly) like her Mark can be extremely blunt and strong-willed, he also has something of a tsundere complex.<strong>

**-Lear, blue-haired and blue-eyed son of Lucina and Brady, and Prince of Ylisse. Gentle-natured and courteous, he tends to act as the diplomat and has shown signs of being a romantic although can be overly sensitive. Lear loves his parents and grandparents dearly, but gets embarrassed about referring to them as 'Ma' 'Pa' 'Grandma' 'Grandpa' in public.**

**-Charu, blond-haired and dark-eyed daughter of Inigo and Princess of Plegia. She is incredibly cunning for her age and displays a talent at navigating verbal battles. Charu pays an ordinate amount of attention to appearances though her delicate looks shouldn't be underestimated, she is completely willing to take down anyone who threatens her family. She dotes on her parents and has shown a far 'mushier' side to herself when in her father's company.**

**-Louiza, brown-haired and blue-eyed daughter of Owain, and twin sister to Tristian. 'Lou' is a self-proclaimed tomboy and detests being considered slower or weaker than any boy due to her gender. She is competitive and quick-tempered, but willing to hold her ground on a friend's behalf against any odds. She and her twin are the most likely to be trouble with their tutor, something their father takes an adverse sense of pride in. Lou wants to be great hero like her mother and father, and usually hassles her brother into training with her so he doesn't slack behind standards also.**

**-Tristian, brown-haired and blue-eyed son of Owain, and twin brother to Louiza. 'Tris' is the talker of the twins, and usually doles out the words while his sister acts as a more physical presence. He has a talent for finding himself in trouble and often has to rely on which is further exasperated by his and his sister's tempers, and has to rely on Mark or Lear to dig him out of it again. Despite this, like Lou, Tristian has the very best of intentions and is loyal almost to a fault, he is particularly attached to both his Grandfathers whom he attempts to emulate whenever possible. Tristian displays a talent for archery, and prefers to hone his martial skills behind Louiza's shield.**

**-Aldritch, dark-haired and grey-eyed son of Cynthia, and younger brother of Aella. Aldritch is purely an intellectual, but that by no means defines his entire character. Like his mother, Aldritch has shown flamboyant and unusual tendencies although unlike Cynthia he feels no such need to broadcast them to others. Although only young, Aldritch is concerned entirely with his own work and therefore can be considered something of a loner as he often does not express what/how/why he's doing what he's doing to those around him. He can be impatient with others but shows incredible kindness to both his mother and older sister, and will express facets of that gentlemanly behaviour to other 'Ladies' as well. Much to the chagrin of the others, Aldritch consistently gets the best scores in _most _subjects.**

**-Aella, dark-haired and brown-eyed daughter of Cynthia, and older sister of Aldritch. Due to being much older than the other children Aella is generally regarded as a big sister like character by those around her. She has a gentle disposition and soft-voice though her cold temper (when eventually riled) is something to be feared. Aella enjoys flower fortunes like her mother and grandmother before her, and as a result has been criticised by her more logical-minded brother for making important decisions on the basis of superstitions. She also carries at least three lucky charms with her at all times and it is due to this (apparently) that she possess a grace her other family members do not. Because of her patient and accepting nature, Aella is the only one capable of instantly understanding her odd parents and little brother. She is also on the receiving end of Prince Lear's very one-sided crush.**

**I'm not sure how many of them will show up in this (though I definitely aim to do an Owain and the twins chapter) but it was fun to write them all out anyway, and it offers a guide to anyone who's finding keeping track of the OCs difficult.**

**Also Robin's secret was revealed this chapter! How many of you guessed it? It's an obvious play on the fairy-tale 'one day by night, one way another' in Shrek but rather than Ogres or Dragons, here we have bears. Tried to sneak in clues by mentioning the abundance of bear motifs in Robin's room at the Tower and the Bear Fur collar she has on her coat, but since my reviewers have been really perceptive I was too worried about adding anything else in case it ruined the surprise ;)**

**Reviewer Replies:**

**A Shadow's Lament: Thank you for your review! Your likeness to Maribelle and a rose was perfect (and one I'm sure Maribelle herself would attest to XD ) but that's what makes her so interesting. I'll have to admit, her rude attitude to 'Plebians' did put me off her at first but once you start digging deeper behind her motivations its difficult not to have some level of respect for her. Hopefully Robin's curse did not disappoint (:**

**Radio-Blaze: Thank you very much for your review! Maribelle is a fungi, she grows on you even if only because the image of her bopping her fellow Shepards on the head with a frilly parasol is one to be enjoyed. Virion is also a bit of a guilty pleasure for me, and also one of the first ones I planned to work into the fairytale theme. The grand unveiling of Robin's curse hopefully did not disappoint (I know you stated that you had an idea beforehand)**

**Sparks101: Thank you very much for your review! Massive thank you for telling me that this is something you actually _look forward _to every week, that was a boost :D I'll do my best to keep your interest!**

**Massive thank you to everyone who also read, followed and favourited this, your support is highly appreciated!**

**A/N: This _really _is not my chapter XD **

**Thanks to Person With Many Aliases for the heads up, hopefully all the issues should be corrected now (:**


	9. Inside the Clock Face

Inside the Clock Face.

The wind howled like an injured animal as it swept past the group huddled on the harbour, hair catching in its current and faces red with cold tucked into their cloaks. Snow speckled each gust, tracking the wind's movements as it swirled and dived about the body of the ship docked on the dark water. From the light of the torches on the stone harbour Mark watched his father's face as the man exchanged cheery farewells with the Plegian Prince and his shy wife.

Night here was so different from what Mark knew it to be in Ferox.

In Ferox it was never this dark, traces of blood-red from the sunset crushed into the indigo and the belly of sky over the plains lit within from some strange faint glow. In Plegia it was black, star-lighted by madly dancing snowflakes and the shimmering reflection of the half-moon on the crests of each angry wave. It was beautiful, yes, in the same way most things he'd found in Plegia to be. Cold and beautiful and dangerous. He could not understand his father's enchantment with the place.

"Mark," his mother's hushed voice called down to him as one calloused hand slipped through his own, "stop frowning."

Mark shuddered briefly at the chilled contact of his mother's chilled fingers before squeezing them, "I'm not frowning."

She only gave him a knowing look, her bobbed straw-coloured hair wafting about her face with the wind. Mark scowled, and stubbornly looked away from her and out at the castle surrounded by ice and stone. He couldn't imagine Grandma Robin here. What would she even want with a place like this? It was so cold Mark could feel the chill seep through him as if his skin were paper. Across from him and completely unaffected, Charu stood with her mother's hand clasped in her own and her eyes latched on her father; a mirror image of his own position. Her dark eyes snapped up to his when she noticed his gaze, huge and dark with only the flickering torches to light them.

She smiled and nodded, "my family and I wish you luck on your journey, my dear. Sailing at night can be a dreadful challenge but do _try_ not to drown."

"Charu," her mother rebuffed gently, her elf-like frame almost swallowed whole by the heavy furs and material of the Plegian cloaks.

"Sorry Momma," Charu whispered.

Mark smirked, quietly amused that Charu could be swayed so easily by her parents. He still found the girl beyond confusing and suspected that even if he _were _to spend any longer as a guest to the Plegians her behaviour wouldn't be any less baffling. But she loved her parents and in that at least the pair had some common ground. Mark nodded once to her as a sign of acknowledgment, an action she reciprocated with a cunning smirk. Then the adults were shaking hands and the Feroxi trio were boarding their ship. Mark gritted his teeth against the nauseous sensation of the sea swelling under his feet like a living, writhing thing. It pushed out with a lurch and the boy's grip on his mother's hand tightened.

"Mom," he breathed.

"What?" she replied, eyes still locked on where Prince Inigo and Princess Noire were waving gently while their daughter stood cocooned between them.

He didn't want to admit to the horrible feeling of his gut folding up and over itself, he didn't want his mother to think him weak. So instead he said, "Can you remember what happened next? In the story?"

Kjelle glanced down at him but said nothing. If had been his father, Mark reflected, then the question would likely have already been aired. But even Mark knew how alike he and his mother were in temperament. Kjelle did not need to ask because she already knew that he was trying to be brave and wanted a distraction. His mother might never be as welcoming as his father was, never as open with her affections as Morgan, but that did not mean they weren't there.

"Some, yes," Kjelle breathed, "Would you like to hear it while we travel."

Mark nodded firmly.

"Very well," Kjelle sighed, "But unlike your father, I will not stand for interruptions. Have I made myself clear, young man?"

"Yeah," Mark frowned, "I'm not an idiot; you say this _every_ time you tell the story."

"And yet," Kjelle began drily, "You still manage to interrupt me every time I try to tell it."

Mark huffed, burrowing his chin further into his furred collar and silently glaring at the erratic sweeping shapes of the moonlight glimmering on the water. It reminded slightly of the tall grass back home and how it'd sway like a ripple along a lake surface when it was nearing harvest, except the water in Plegia was always so choppy. A turn of thoughts that was doing very little to alleviate his sea-sickness. Mark peeked across at his father and was relieved to see the man still hadn't yet noticed his son's waxy pallor. Morgan would be kicking himself for weeks if he knew Mark had been sick as a dog throughout all those boat rides he'd endured for his father over the past two days.

Noting the direction of Mark's gaze and the tightening of his little fingers on hers, Kjelle wet her lips and began….

….

The first thing that hit Robin was the heat. Warm and damp, it was the type of air that muddied her lungs and clung to the back of her neck like a wet sheet. Fans festooned with ribbons materialised in the hands of the Themis nobility as the whole throng of them complained to one another in low, chattering voices. The leather of Robin's gloves creaked as she flexed her fingers.

The door yawned wider, breathing out another low blast of hot air and streaming light tinted by coloured glass across their faces. It was then that Robin noticed the noise, the faint sound of ticking that grew louder and louder the farther into the room they journeyed. The passageway they followed Maribelle down was as wide as her guestrooms with a ceiling that vaulted up to dizzying heights. The walls were covered in curtains of deep red with golden tassels at their ends, but beyond that Robin could see nothing nor anything of the room the passageway branched out onto.

"Whatever it is," she whispered to Gregor, "It sounds like clockwork."

The huge man hummed with disapproval, "Gregor not like the idea of battling with machines," he shrugged his huge shoulders, "where the challenge, yes?"

With Maribelle devising these 'trials' Robin thought that it was probably going to be more than challenging enough. Even the way the woman _walked_ was as though she were throwing down the metaphorical gauntlet. Robin merely hummed in response to Gregor. She kept an ear cocked for any hints that the gossip about her or the ominous ticking from ahead may give. As a child she'd been given one of Themis' clockwork devices (a toy noblewoman that bowed and waved her hand in the usual regal fashion) as a parting gift from a successful diplomatic visit between their nation and her own. While her cousin had soon grown bored with its repeating motions Robin clearly remembered taking it apart and fitting back together again and again and again, mystified by how each tiny, brass cog and spring could assemble together to create the contraption. It taught her of people, how each moment and experience in a person's life came together to shape the bigger picture that was them.

So if she were imagine herself as Maribelle, imagine living among these twittering nobles and having all her efforts ignored or ridiculed and _then _having Princes thrust upon her by a well-meaning if slightly clueless father, what would she devise to prove their worth? She wouldn't was the conclusion Robin came to. She wouldn't even bother entertaining the notion of properly humouring what she saw as yet another set-back to her work. It wouldn't matter to her what these Princes wanted or how hard they fought, they were only fighting for one thing and it was a fight spent in the wrong places. Despite Robin's own high esteem of the Ylissians, how could she expect Maribelle to share it when the woman had been fighting so hard and for long for equality in her country without the help of these people calling themselves her 'suitors'?

These 'trails' weren't the way to win Maribelle's favour, the _real _work would come after, regardless performing badly in them would give the group a sour impression that they really could do without.

"Gregor," Robin whispered, "Whatever happens out there, we need to make sure Chrom succeeds, okay?"

The huge man glanced down at her, "….Why so important Princeling do well? Princess is competing too, yes?"

"Yes, but _I'm _not the one on the quest here," Robin smiled ruefully and shook her head, "We're just back-up and if I know anything about Princess Maribelle, whatever's in that room is going to try Chrom's patience."

Gregor grumbled at that and scratched at the back of his head before sighing.

"Alright," Gregor nodded his head wearily, "Gregor will do as Princess asks."

"Thanks Gregor," Robin smiled, "You're a good man."

"Ah! So _now _Princess make with the compliments!" he laughed, "Gregor should say yes to Princess more often!"

"I think you already do it often enough," Robin winced.

It only made Gregor laugh louder and Robin couldn't help smiling slightly at his mirth. She didn't know what she'd done to gain the man's loyalty but she was thankful for it. Keeping secrets was an old undertaking to Robin, and still it made her tired at times in a way she felt to her bones. She knew she did so to prevent causing further harm over something that had already hurt others in so many ways, still sometimes she couldn't squash the selfish thought that maybe….maybe it'd be nice for _someone else_ to deal with it all for once. She smiled to herself, like that'd ever happen. Even if she could wash away the guilt of lumping it all on their shoulders, she'd drive herself mad trying to do it for them without _actually _doing it. She couldn't control everything, she knew that, but she'd never been capable of turning off her brain for more than five seconds.

"Princess is lost in thought again," Gregor murmured, keeping watch on her from the corner of his eye.

"Sorry," Robin frowned, "I was just…thinking."

He grinned and shrugged, "It what Princess do. Though Princess will have face like prune if she keeps frowning like that."

"Er, thanks for the advice Gregor," Robin replied, a little lost and a little amused.

"No problem," he beamed, "Oy, look like Snooty Princess be ready now."

Robin's eyes flicked forward to where the corridor had smoothed out into a larger room. The layout was unlike anything she'd seen before. Overlooked on either side by two wide viewing balconies (that the nobility immediately ascended to via curling iron staircases) and dominating the floor of the room, was what seemed to be the inside of a clock face. Three brass discs rotated slowly, wide enough for six people to stand shoulder to shoulder on and elevated over a pit of jerking cogs and intricate interlocking clumps of clockwork machinery. Steam burst from varying holes at certain points and obscured the burnished brass colours of the contraption. Robin leaned over the edge and peered inside the pit of cogs underneath, four mages manned each corner at compass points.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Maribelle preened, "This is all thanks to the diligent work of our people."

"What _is _it, exactly?" Frederick frowned.

"A test," Maribelle answered, primly smacking her parasol against her hands as she added, "_Your _test to be exact. Before you are three rings, you must cross those three to reach the centre. Those of you who reach the centre and perform in a manner befitting of my 'rescuer' will succeed."

"Cross the rings?" Stahl echoed, "…That's it?"

"Of course not," Maribelle huffed, "Anyone can merely _walk _from one place to another, Libra if you will?"

"Of course My Lady," the Knight bowed before descending into the pit below.

There was a great shudder that vibrated through the marble floor and up through the soles of her boots. The contraption groaned, cogs whirring away at such speeds that they blurred. Several panels slid away on the three rings and there rising out of them came the clockwork men. Robin marvelled, she understood that Themis was at the forefront of such things but she'd had no idea they were capable of _this._

Each of the clockwork men wore a glass face, the inner workings were a tapestry of tiny delicate cogs and springs. Their bodies were covered in military uniform of stark red and cream. They looked too delicate to function, more ornaments than anything else, but as they swept to the outer edges of the rings they moved in swift, lithe movements like a snake striking out on its belly.

"Grima's rotten fingernails," Robin breathed, "What _are_ they?"

Chrom chuckled once (likely at her curse) before sighing, "I've never seen their like before."

"No, I expect you wouldn't," Maribelle spoke with a pride usually reserved for a mother looking on her children, "You'll have to defeat them all to be crowned victourious."

The closer the ring came to the centre, the more clock men occupied it. If Robin's memory was correct then the perquisites of their success were to be 'courteous', 'brave', 'strong' and 'merciful'. The elegant fencing blades strapped to the waists of the clockwork men would suggest that fighting was involved, but if Maribelle had decided to judge her suitors on strength alone then surely _someone_ would have passed her test by now. The strength issue was likely what was holding Prince Virion back (though if Robin knew anything about the man, it was that he was cunning and probably already concocting strategies to use the Ylissians' strength to his advantage) which was no issue for charge-into-danger Prince Chrom. But to be 'courteous' and 'merciful'?

Now there was the true trial.

How exactly did someone push their way to the centre without displaying either weakness or just pure brawn? A fight was an exercise of the strength of your brain and body, Robin knew, but regardless your enemy was still your enemy and only one of you could succeed.

"….Or is that exactly the wrong thinking?" Robin murmured, a thought that had the conclusion snapping into place like the release of a bow string.

She tugged gently at Gregor's arm while coaxing the Ylissians to huddle around her with her other hand. She was going out on a limb here, but there was much to gain and little to lose since Maribelle had already decided their failure at this challenge already. She couldn't tell them that much, Lissa and Chrom would make a scene and Sir Frederick would vouch for them abandoning the task altogether if it meant pointlessly endangering the royals.

"Robin?" Lissa whispered, "What's up?"

Robin glanced about them all before licking her lips to begin, "I know this might sound mad-"

"If you know so, why speak it?" Frederick frowned.

Lissa swatted his arm, "Shh, Robin's talking. Go on Robin, ignore Frederick."

"Right," Robin breathed before beginning again, "I know this might sound mad but….you can't damage any of the clockwork men."

"You're right," Frederick intoned drily, "That _does _sound mad."

"Wait, at least let me explain. Okay, so the four things Maribelle wants to see here is brave, strength, courtesy and mercy; just fighting our way to the centre will only show two of those four things. We have to be considerate here."

"Look, I don't want to doubt you Robin," Stahl sighed, "But you're asking us to be 'considerate' to a bunch of sword-wielding clockwork men that are out to maim us…at least."

"No, I'm asking you to be considerate towards Princess Maribelle," at her words the group's eyebrows furrowed with confusion, and Robin took that as her opportunity to solider on, "She's testing us to see if we can look at the bigger picture here. Those clockwork men were created by the very same people Lady Maribelle has been championing since she was a young teen, we are also her guests here, destroying them would not only be rude but also show that the only way we can win is by pure strength without a second thought for the people who'd be affected by our decisions. She's testing our mercy here too remember."

"Wow…"Lissa breathed, "I didn't even look at it like that. Way to go, Robin!"

"And if you're wrong?" Frederick cut across, his face drawn in serious lines, "If we endanger ourselves purely on your hunch and it proves to be wrong, what then?"

"Hey-"Lissa began and Robin waved her off despite the warmth that flooded her cheeks at the younger princess' defence.

"I can't guarantee I'm right on this, Sir Frederick," Robin spoke with the same seriousness he had, "All I can do is ask you to trust me."

Frederick only frowned down at her, and it said much that the man had not flat out refused her request. Guilt tainted the first burst of happiness. Lissa defending her, Frederick no longer doubting her and even Stahl wishing her a good morning with the same warmth he had everyone else. Robin had not felt so included, so wanted, since…well, since she was a child and hadn't had the curse of her blood hanging so close to her every thought. It warmed her, it made her smile to herself whether others were watching or not but it also _scared _her. They did not understand (because, admittedly, Robin would tell them so they could) but she _did. _She already knew that no matter how many times she and Lissa combed one another's hair in the morning or Stahl and Frederick gave her impromptu riding lessons; this would all end with Robin returning to the Tower and severing all contact with them all while the curse progressed to the point that she was no longer capable of remembering her own name never mind theirs.

"My Lord?" Frederick's eyes flicked questionably over to Chrom, leaving the decision up to him.

Chrom adjusted his weight and looked to her. It wasn't the panicked glances that she noticed this morning and managed to flit everywhere around the space she was occupying without ever actually looking _at _her. It wasn't the type she'd seen these past weeks, where his laugh was still flickering somewhere at the edges. It was direct and stone cold serious and Robin could see, as if he were standing before her, the future King Chrom could become. He kept his gaze on hers, she didn't need to blink or look away because it was suddenly so difficult to do so. What could he see in her? What was going through his head at that moment?

Chrom nodded and the spell was broken, "I trust her. Frederick, Gregor up front. Stahl I want you at our rear, Lissa you're at the centre with me. My…performance tend to be more geared towards attack which won't be helpful here, but me and Lissa will intercept most attacks. I just want you three to focus on your defence, understood?"

"Right!" Lissa grinned while the three men nodded.

"Robin, I trust you have a plan for your magic?" Chrom turned to her, but once again his gaze was firmly planted somewhere above her head rather than at her face.

Robin squashed the twinge of disappointment, the obvious distance Chrom's lack of eye-contact created was not something she should feel hurt about.

"I do," she nodded, "If I can work up a strong enough current, I might be able to shock the machine into a paralysis…"

"And if that happens the clockwork men won't be so much of an issue," Stahl chuckled.

"Exactly," Robin smiled back at him, "It runs at largely on magic, even if I don't override their magic altogether at least I'll give the wizards enough of a jolt to interrupt their spells."

"So if need be we don't even need to advance past the first ring until the wizards are neutralised, lowering the risk," Frederick smiled lightly and nodded, "You're strategy deserves more credit than I'd previously given it, Lady Robin."

"Oh, er, thank you," Robin flushed.

"Right," Chrom nodded, "Then let's go."

"Finished are we?" Prince Virion began as the group broke out from their huddle, "One can't_ help_ but wonder at what secrets were being shared between you all. Sweet nothings before battle, perhaps?"

"Sweet nothings are an area of your expertise, Prince Virion," Maribelle scowled, "Although the shameless flirt has one thing right, I don't recall agreeing to wait on you all while you whisper amongst each other…._again."_

"The rules didn't forbid a strategy meeting before the trial, My Lady," Robin replied.

Maribelle sniffed, "It seems that you're very adept at sniffing out loopholes when something isn't explicably stated, Lady Robin."

She smiled, "It would seem so, yes."

"A strategy meeting?" Virion laughed, his amphibian eyes practically glittering with excitement, "how marvellous! Then I should expect a challenge from you fair ladies and your stout protectors?"

"Hey!" Lissa yelled, "I may be stout but I don't need a protector! I don't need Stahl or Frederick there to kick your froggy-ass all the way back to Roxanne!"

"How fiery!" Virion grinned, "I meant no offence, my dear lady, only that flowers as beautiful as you and Lady Robin should be," he smirked at a silently fuming Chrom and Gregor, "well cared for, something not every man is sure to understand."

"Oy, oy, oy!" Gregor thundered, "What little frog prince meaning with last part!"

"I will not allow Lady Lissa and Robin to mocked in such a-!" Frederick growled.

"Right, you are so dead!" Stahl fumed.

"_Prince Virion_."

Everyone stilled at the cold that suffused what was Libra's otherwise gentle tone. The threat and mercilessness in the Knight's strange pale eyes as he coolly regarded the former-prince of Roxanne from his greater height was enough to silence everyone.

"Please refrain from making such statements in future," Libra smiled gently but it didn't fit his face properly, too controlled and intimidating when in juxtaposition with the murderous aura surrounding him, "or you will be disqualified."

"Y-yes, of course!" Virion stammered.

"Thank you," Libra inclined his head and the effect slid from him as if it had never been there.

"That….that," Stahl breathed, "I think I need to change my armour."

"Same here," Lissa added.

After Libra had swiftly cut down any chatter, the group shuffled themselves into order. Virion hopped down from his pillow and eyed the platform onto the first of the rings with mirthful chuckle that seemed to say 'here we go again'. Then without any prior warning or starting shot, they began. Virion leaped into action first, Chrom jolting into movement soon after as he ordered everyone into their places.

As one they moved, staunchly marching across the platform with shields raised or in the case of Chrom, Lissa and Robin cocooned in protective shell of the others. The nobility bayed from their balconies, screaming out names or tactics or simply demanding violence in a swell of cheers. Robin tuned them out. She searched for the eager pull of her magic and began gathering it in her chest, feeling the lightning spark and dance along the bones of her fingers. Gregor grunted as one of the clockwork men threw himself at the Plegian's shield, curling around the metal with gloved hands and trying to wrench it from Gregor's fingers. Lissa batted the animatronics' fingers away before it could even begin tugging but stumbled into her brother as Frederick threw an arm out to block one of the clockwork men's rapiers that had slipped under his guard.

It was a mess, they barely made it five steps in before all of the clock men occupying that first ring surged towards them. Robin was battered from one side of their defensive perimeter to the next, squashed in beside Lissa and Chrom to a suffocating proximity. She furrowed her brows and concentrated on layering the ball of energy into her hands. She had to do her part. Besides that the only promise she had that the others would keep to her plan was her faith in them.

"Get down!" Lissa hauled Robin down just as Chrom blocked a swipe from overhead.

The dainty blonde proved how very _un _-delicate she could be when angry by smashing both of her legs into the clockwork man's stomach, shoving him away from Chrom and consequently flashing her frilly undergarments to the jeering crowd. Stahl hastily shuffled in, trying to protect Lissa's dignity well she growled and threatened the next clock man to take the other's place.

"Princess be hurrying with the spell now!" Gregor called. His cheek was bleeding from what Robin could only presume was a _very _close call, he pushed his fist out to punch at a clock man's face before swerving it away at the last second and receiving a kick to the gut for his efforts.

Robin glared at the ever-growing ball of lightning in her cupped hands, chewing at her lips while it pulsed and crackled with energy. This was frustrating. She had to keep her cool, she'd been trained from an early age to do just that, but it was so damned _difficult_ to be the sensible one all the time when they were being attacked around her.

"It's okay," Chrom breathed somewhere above her, "You got this."

Breathe. Air in, air out. The current would pass along quicker if she could reach one of the many panels the clock men had emerged from and feed it directly into the machine. Robin's eyes scanned about for just such a thing, before aligning on one to her left. She'd have to be quick and kept the same level of concentration on her spell. This was her part, she was not about to prove their faith in her false. The flare of fierce determination propelled her forward, darting around Frederick's side and tucking her spell against her chest as she rolled under the graceful arch of clock man's swing. The air scythed behind her but Robin paid it no heed, evading and slipping forward with a speed she had not known she possessed.

She slid to a halt by the latch, working it open with the heels of her boots and gritting her teeth against the strain it put on her legs. It crept open at an agonising pace, too slow it seemed to avoid damage. The first strike punctured her shoulder, a needle-point of pain that barely registered above the cheering of the crowd, the frantic static of her spell and her own adrenaline. The wet sensation dripping down her back was more uncomfortable than anything else. She glanced to her side and saw another clock man advancing (most still preoccupied with breaking through the Ylissians) in those lean, cat-like movements. Robin bit down on her lip and prepared herself for the blow. Dodging it would mean relinquishing her progress on the hatch, attacking them would mean charging her from the beginning again and both wasted too much time. Lissa could heal her after until then she'd just have to manage.

Robin rounded her shoulders, her legs shook with the strain and she kept her eyes centred on the pulsing ball of magic.

The blow never came. Frederick with a speed that belied his stature shot forward and rammed the clock man to the crowd, allowing the second's blade to glance away. Robin blinked, generally accustomed to being the one running in to _someone else's _aide. Frederick glanced down at her sternly, the sort of look an older brother gives an unruly younger sibling when they've managed to find themselves in trouble yet again.

"Don't get careless!" he barked.

Robin grinned in response, "Thank you."

With Frederick acting as a shield at her back, Robin finally managed to haul the shaft open and hurl the ball of lightning inside. The Ring screeched to a halt so quickly that Robin tumbled forward and would have fallen into the shaft behind her spell if it hadn't been for Frederick snagging her back.

"Go Chrom, go! You don't have much time!" she called to where the Ylissian was trying to stabilise Gregor.

The blue-haired prince nodded once, flashing both her and Frederick a brief smile before running head long towards the centre, weaving around the now motionless clock men as he went. The crowd roared as he vaulted onto the second ring, barely pausing for breath as he cleared the distance towards the third (and last) one. He readied himself, judging the distance between the last brass plate and the centre. Robin found her fists clenched in her dress. All the work, everything they'd done to succeed up till this moment was resting on Chrom and although it was such a simple thing to jump from one side to another she knew that his earlier failure at her Tower was likely playing in his head. Doubt was a terrible thing, and one that Chrom had shown susceptibility to. His faith in them may be unshakeable, but she didn't think Chrom had that same belief in his own actions.

"Chrom! You got this!" she called.

"You can do this!" Stahl shouted with conviction.

The prince took a breath and leaped. Just as he did something crawled out of his cape, clearing his arm in a few strokes before jumping forward from his fingertips. Instinctively Chrom recoiled and ended up smacking his torso against the platform instead before scrambling for a foothold. Frederick was already sprinting towards him, floundering with helpless rage as Chrom pulled himself up with gritted teeth.

Mutely Robin turned towards the shape. She should have kept an eye on him; but in the rush of battle she'd lost of track of someone so small. That didn't excuse it, if she'd kept on him then they would have known he'd hidden in Chrom's clock and waited for the perfect opportunity to strike.

Robin's gaze sharpened as there, at the centre of Maribelle's clock face, Virion gave a bow.

….

"He cheated," Mark muttered mulishly, his arms locked around his rolling stomach as he glared out at the dark sea.

"He did," Kjelle scowled, "But he also won."

"I'd rather lose," Mark said vehemently, "I'd rather lose fairly than cheat and win."

"Would you?" Kjelle raised a brow, "It's easy to say now Mark, but you've never wanted something enough to cheat for it. Prince Virion had participated in those trails every time they'd been held and besides couldn't you say that your Grandma Robin cheated too?"

"No!" Mark flushed, "No way, Grandma doesn't cheat! She just came up with a plan!"

"So did Prince Virion," Kjelle replied curtly, "…It was a hard lesson for me to learn at your age too, Mark, but the world is not black and white."

Mark was silent after that, frowning to himself as he mulled his mother words over.

Kjelle watched him quietly before stating, "….I'm not condoning you to cheat, Mark."

Mark snorted, "I wouldn't anyway, besides Virion was turned into a frog for a reason right?"

Kjelle's lips curled into a small smile, "right."

…

Predictably Maribelle's reception of Virion's victory was _not _a warm one. Stahl couldn't imagine anyone being surprised by that particular twist. Despite the former-Prince's underhanded tactics Stahl had felt a burst of sympathy for him when his smile became sad and stiff at her rejection.

"It's not so bad," Stahl voiced, "Hey, at least it's a good story for when we get back to Ylisstol, right?"

Nobody answered behind mumbles and Stahl resisted the urge to sigh. The atmosphere in the royal stables was heavy. Impressed by their conduct in spite of their failure, Princess Maribelle had gifted them with horses for the Plegians and enough supplies to comfortably reach their next destination. Yeah, falling short when they were so close _had _been a kick to the gut and yeah, Stahl had been glaring at the frog-prince pretty hard during his flowery victory speech (a situation that had _not _been helped any by the wink the Prince had aimed at Lissa). But there wasn't much to be done about it now besides dusting themselves off and heading off again.

He just wished he could do something to cheer them up. Stahl's frustration was concreted on how usually that wouldn't prove much of a challenge for him; but he was used to failure more than the others were and in that he could be more forgiving. Stahl scratched at the back of his head and frowned at his feet. This mood wasn't helping anyone but he didn't know what to do. Stahl followed by nature, it was what he'd been born to do, trained to do and ultimately felt comfortable with. That was okay. He'd come to terms with that simple character trait years before, and found (unsurprisingly) that the alternative was just something that didn't _fit _him right. But being a follower didn't excuse being useless, which he was at that moment.

"Y'know," he tried again, "at least we'll eat well tonight. I mean it won't be whatever Princess Maribelle's dining on but if we're lucky they might have packed some of those scones from breakfast…._and _this isn't helping, right?"

"Nope," Lissa sighed, "Sorry Stahl."

"No problem," he chuckled, "Just…" he glanced at where Frederick was tightening his warhorse's girth with a stony expression, "….I know this isn't my place but I just wanted to say that this isn't the end of the world."

Robin, Gregor and Chrom glanced up, and Stahl ruffled a hand through his hair again at the sudden attention, "I mean it might feel like right now, but even if we didn't win we _did _achieve something out there, right? I can feel that we did."

They blinked at him blankly but Stahl pushed on, clenching his hands at his sides, "I know that we did, so….so we need to stop beating ourselves up about this and get a good dinner down us and move onto the next Princess. And if that's a failure well, meh, I just refuse to believe that it was worthless."

No one spoke for a moment.

Stahl couldn't help wondering if he'd said too much, or worse not enough and had every word fall on unresponsive ears. There wasn't an awful lot he could take pride in and Stahl had always been brought up to be a modest kind of guy, but what they'd done out there was something he was proud of. They'd worked as a group and they had passed Maribelle of Themis trial. Dismissing now just seemed a shame.

"You're right," Lissa breathed.

Stahl blinked, "….I am?"

"Yep," slowly a smile flooded her face, "You're right, Stahl, but that doesn't mean we should just give up either!"

"Well I wasn't exactly suggesting just giving up-whoa!"

Lissa suddenly gripped him by the elbow and whirled them both out of the stables and jogging towards the Palace again. The nobles were still drinking, some lounging out in the early evening air to the accompaniment of wine glasses clinking and trickling laughter. Lissa barely paused, pushing through the throng and hurrying them both up to the study where Maribelle had dismissed them.

Lissa didn't even bother knocking, instead swinging them both inside like Princess Maribelle was intruding on _their _space rather than the other way round.

"What is the meaning-"Maribelle began furiously already rising from her chair; before freezing as Lissa hurled herself forward.

Libra's hands went for his axe and instantly Stahl flanked Lissa, summoning up the most intimidating glare he could manage (and privately admit was modelled on Frederick's).

"Can you hear us out, please?" Lissa begged, "Just for a minute, actually probably more than a minute but-"

"But," Stahl smiled, derailing Lissa's rambling, "Can you please just listen to us before we leave, Princess?"

"I-"she scowled, turned around, turned back and then finally threw herself back into the plush pin-striped seat she'd occupied, "Oh, very well. But make it quick. I'm very busy and I didn't have a wink of sleep last night."

"I know! I know!" Lissa waved her hands, "Look, I get that you think we're probably all foolish or naïve and maybe…maybe you're right when it comes to me, but if we've proved anything today it's that my brother was worth rescuing you."

"He may be _worth _doing so," Maribelle began, "but that doesn't mean he should. What do you think I'd achieve by leaving my people to gallivant off with you all?"

"Usually I wouldn't have an answer for that!" Lissa argued, "But Stahl said something just now, and it made me realise something!"

Stahl blinked. Him? He hadn't done anything.

"He said that even though we failed today, what we did was never pointless. Rescuing Robin didn't go smoothly either but that doesn't mean we lost, we learned from it and that's how we all grow as people," Lissa clenched a hand, "Do you think you'd learn anything here, Maribelle? Nope, you'll stay the same here and how can you expect to help your people then? We're not perfect but we're still learning like you, and even though you can be sharp-tongued we want you to learn! We'll help you!"

Lissa panted for breath after her passionate argument. The others were silent, Maribelle's composed behaviour slipping evidenced by her gaping mouth. Stahl beamed.

"Lissa," he smiled, "You underestimate yourself. Everyone else had given up while you came storming up here."

"Well, neither did you!" she grinned, "Give up, I mean. So don't sell yourself short either, alright Stahl?"

Crap. If she kept up like this Stahl was going to make an absolute idiot out of himself. He felt his cheeks warm and his grip on his sword was sweaty. This was not good. Princess Lissa was going to be the death of him and unfortunately Stahl hadn't been blessed with common sense enough to stay away.

"Thanks," he murmured.

"And besides that," Lissa redirected her smile towards where Maribelle and Libra were gaping, "I decided to just ask you."

"You…you did?" Maribelle frowned.

Libra chuckled and smiled gently as Lissa strode up to Maribelle, and with a beaming grin offered her hand.

"Princess Maribelle of Themis, would you do us the honour of joining us on this quest?"

….

"Why have you stopped?"

"Because that's the end of the story," Kjelle replied unapologetically.

"No, it's not," Mark scowled, "C'mon mom, you know more than that."

"….I can't recall anymore," Kjelle coughed.

Mark huffed and shot her a glance before mumbling, "Liar."

He's irritation towards his mother soon evaporated though as the sun began branching out with the first reaching fingers of dawn. The cliff faces were stark and dark but they seemed warmer here, the rock a rich, muddy brown and topped by a heavy head of long grass. Although he could not see it, Mark knew that further out the Knights of Ferox would be exercising their mounts before first light. Farther than that was his blanket that felt of horse and fresh grass, and the mazes of bookcases his father could lose himself in for days on end. His grip tightened on his mother's hand.

"Can you see home yet, Mark?"

Mark nodded to his mother, and breathed in the scent of air that was more familiar.

**A/N:**

**Okay so I don't know about you but this chapter felt more disjointed than usual :/ No matter how I wrote it, it didn't seem to want to comply and I've ended up deleting chunks of it that were pure rambling, so I have to apologise if the quality seems lower than usual I've just felt really ****_off _****this week…**

**Reviewer replies:**

**A Shadow's Lament: ****Thank you for the reviewer! I'm so glad Chrom's in character, because although I love him he always proves difficult for me because he's an odd mix of the classical prince with some more modern relatable traits thrown in. It's so easy to make him over-the-top noble or over-the-top angry that I do worry whether I do him justice. And yes Chrom/Robin are confirmed! I was dying to see if anyone got that (:**

**Sparks101: ****Thanks for the review! Glad you liked the bear translation, originally this ****_was _****going to be a Frederick/Robin Fantasy one-shot called The Bear and Frederick Fair where Frederick basically freaks out when Robin transforms (due to what seems to be a dislike of most furry creatures), I have no idea whether that's relevant to you or not XD Gregor and Robin are still up for reader's perspective as to whether he sees her as a little sister or something else, but one protective of her Gregor definitely is!**

**Radio-Blaze: ****Thanks for the review! Yes, Chrom's being a little awkward right now but at the moment, it's mostly to do with being unsure of how to act around Robin knowing she's cursed. Don't worry, I'm not just torturing the poor soul, it will play a part laughter…or soon as the case maybe. I will confirm Robin and Chrom here too, I was dying to see who picked up on Morgan's hint and who didn't (:**

**Also big thank you to everyone who's read this! Reviews are appreciated, and another thank you to the guys (or ladies) who review this fic every chapter!**


	10. Enter the Sorceress

Enter the Sorceress.

Maribelle was uneasy. It was not an emotion she was accustomed to experiencing, as bold with her words as she was with her feelings both of which had been sharpened by a life of having to _push_ them into being taken into account. And perhaps it is because she has been freely offered a choice in this instead of having to fight for the privilege to, that Maribelle is suddenly so impossibly, so unfamiliarly uncertain. Joining the Ylissians is the best thing to do, in that it will (like the fiery-eyed little Princess had attested) offer her an invaluable chance to better herself. Bettering herself is a most human desire, and one that should be encouraged when someone was in her positon.

But still…it all seemed _so….easy._

As they tacked their horses and Maribelle dictated her servants about the packhorse, they merely raised their brows at the bulk but didn't indicate that her presence was unwanted. The Ladies Robin and Lissa asked after what supplies she'd brought but didn't laugh behind their hands at her afterwards. They were wary in the normal way someone is wary around a stranger, not unwelcoming, not two-faced or terrified. Maribelle did not know what to make of it. It made her suspicious in a way she hated, was she so weak that a simple greeting had her looking for double-meanings? She'd never believed herself to be nor did she intend to be, and yet that uneasy feeling coated her shoulders and she could not deny it, not completely.

She kept her head high, her shoulders rounded and her spine as straight as a whip as she flexed her fingers in the buttery leather of her gloves. The morning she'd set for their departure was balmy, heavy with the scent of pollen, hay from the stables and the morning bread from the kitchens. Not many had journeyed out to see them off, a gaggle of nobles still sniffing after the visiting royalty and her father, the King, were the only few in attendance. The horses' shoed hooves clacked against the cobbles, the noise ringing out like bells over the sound of the stable master and attendants barking out their last orders. It all made her home oddly rural. Themis had always seemed more industrial before, more shrouded in fashion and squashed together. She could _taste_ the fresh air that morning unlike any other.

"Will My Lady be well to ride?" it was the taller, serious-faced Knight, "My Lord Chrom tends to set a brisk pace, and not everyone is suited to such."

"I assure you Sir Knight, I am _not_ everyone," Maribelle sniffed, "I will be perfectly fine to keep pace, and require no further babying about."

He didn't appear offended in the least, merely bowing his head and murmuring a 'as you wish' in a respectful tone. Maribelle tsked, as illogically irritated by his lack of offence as she was by her unneeded barb. She was doing no one any favours, that she knew, but when had Princess Maribelle been an expert on making things easier?

"I know he can seem a little…stiff, but Sir Frederick means well or so I've come to understand. He's just not certain of any other way to express it."

Maribelle turned sharply at the voice and found the Plegian, Princess Robin, smiling at her.

"I'm sure he does," Maribelle frowned, "but nevertheless, I came here of my own volition and I intend to survive as such."

"And no one's disputing that," Robin raised her hands and her brows in the universal sign of peace in the face of an unexpected attack, "I was just-"

"Well, don't," Maribelle snapped, "I intend to learn here, and I cannot do such if everyone's laughing at me."

""What? No one's laughing at you. Why would you think that?" her eyes were unnervingly perceptive as they looked at Maribelle. Searching, they slid over her face as if Maribelle were an open book, as if every secret was written there for Robin to read at her leisure.

Maribelle tightened her jaw and raised her head. Well, let Robin read. She was not about to hide.

"Actually…" Robin sighed and shook her head with a rueful smile, "I came over to ask a favour."

"A favour?" Maribelle raised a brow.

"Could you show me how to saddle my horse, please? Sir Stahl and Sir Frederick have shown me countless times but I never seem to be able to remember it; Chrom, Stahl and Lissa are over with Ricken and I don't want to ask Sir Frederick again…." She trailed off at Maribelle's silence before chuckling, "it's a little sad that I haven't picked it up by now, huh?"

"Perhaps," Maribelle nodded, "By all accounts I'd heard that the Plegian Princess was quite intelligent."

"Hey," Robin frowned softly, "I'm not-"

"But I suppose, we can't be expected to succeed in all matters," Maribelle turned briskly and marched towards Robin's mount, "Come, let us see what can be done."

Unfortunately, the clear morning air was ruined by an unforeseen 'surprise' by Robin's horse. Sitting upon Robin's saddlebags as if he owned them emand /emthe surrounding area, was none other than the resident cravat-wearing amphibian and persistent pain in the unmentionables, Prince Virion.

"Ah, good morning and what fine weather it is for such fine company!" the frog bowed as much as a frog was capable.

"It _was"_ Maribelle pursed her lips, "I didn't realise _you_ would be joining us."

"And why ever not?" Virion gasped as if scandalised beyond repair, "I emerged triumphant at your trial, my dear Lady, have I not proven myself to be fit enough to gaze upon your beauty?"

"You've proven yourself to be a cheat, Prince Virion, as well as a flatterer and a knave," Maribelle replied tartly, "And I most definitely do _not_ authorise any 'gazing', upon my 'beauty' or otherwise; are we understood?"

"I am ever your humble servant," Virion murmured sombrely.

"A servant I could fire at least," Maribelle muttered before turning to Robin (who'd watched the exchange curiously) with a smart clap of her hands, _"Now,_ let's see to this horse shall we?"

Maribelle felt somewhat better after taking charge of Lady Robin's horse. It gave her some measure of control, and the added satisfaction of breathing space that she desperately did not want to be _seen_ needing. Virion's company soured the experience but overall Maribelle felt more grounded, and…however roguish his behaviour, the frog _was_ a familiar face. She was just slipping the bit into the horse's mouth and lecturing Robin on the proper way to do so, when they were joined by the Ylissians and the Plegian man Maribelle assumed was Robin's personal guard. Little Ricken hurried after them, starry-eyed and brave-faced and seeming all the younger for it behind the already young adventuring party.

"Almost finished, Rob-oh! Princess Maribelle I didn't see you there!" Lady Lissa beamed, "I'm really, really, _really_ happy you came with us!"

Maribelle was unsure what to do so settled for a brisk nod.

"Lissa's enthusiasm aside," Prince Chrom began with a look of fond, wry amusement when his sister huffed, "You have my thanks."

"Really now," Maribelle blustered (all this gratefulness was making her skin prickle), "I'm here for the benefit of Themis far more than your own. There's no need for all this…this…."

"Thanks?" Robin suggested.

"Precisely! Now, where is you intend to journey to next?"

"To Valm," Chrom's tone instantly changed as he took charge of the situation, "The daughter of Queen Phila has been abducted."

"So I've heard," Robin frowned, "By someone they call The Red Knight, countless Knights of Valm have tried to rescue her…and failed."

"Wow Robin!" Lissa winked and poked her in the ribs with her elbow, "You hear _everything,_ huh?"

"Well…I wouldn't go that far," Robin smirked and squirmed away from Lissa, "Just enough, this one will be a challenge I'm sure but one worth it if we can return the Princess to her mother."

"I couldn't agree more," Chrom nodded grimly, "Valm is a good week's ride from here, but at a push we _could_ make it in four days."

"Then why are we dallying?" Maribelle sighed and hoisted herself into the saddle, "Time is of the essence."

With muted fanfare and her father waving at her, Maribelle and the adventuring party departed. If the fact that it was only her father's send-off that had any warmth hurt Maribelle, she took great pains to hide it. Namely by observing the group about her. The ease with which they slotted into their respective roles was strangely fascinating. Frederick remained for the most part silent and watchful; only breaking his vigil to state something disapproving to the younger knight or the Plegian man, or to suggest some ludicrous activity that safety-proofed the royals further. Stahl and Robin stayed relatively quiet in comparison to the louder personalities, replying when asked, joining when requested to but for the most part their company was soothing, preferring to let the others talk while they intrusively steered the conversation. Chrom's input was somewhere in the realm of Robin and Stahl's but too direct to truly belong there. While Robin and Stahl's touch was comforting but light, you _knew_ when Chrom did something whether the Prince had designed it to be that way or not.

Most of the entertainment was provided by Lissa, Gregor and Virion. The three bantered and egged one another on, if Lissa and Gregor were not exchanging childish ditties then Lissa and Virion were arguing, if Lissa and Virion were not arguing then Gregor and Virion were exchanging life stories each more dramatic than the previous. Although these three appeared to be the main conversation, Maribelle noticed that each played their part. Countless arguments had been cooled by Robin's words, arguments that could have struck the group into petulant silence. Frederick was called in as a decider in most matters, be they when a Lady was permitted to accept a token of affection or what type of chestnuts were growing on this or that tree. Chrom offered topics or an anecdote that would spur everyone into action again. Stahl's input was easy, the levity or a mellow comment keeping it all from falling into uncomfortable waters. When one grew bored of another, there were plenty more clusters of the group to slot themselves into…although the Prince had been avoiding the Plegians.

Maribelle, used to the clicks of whispering nobility, had seen nothing of its like. She was not sure what to do. Not everyone got along with one another (Frederick and Gregor had their share of barbed words and it seemed Virion was going the same way) but they weren't out-casted, not as Maribelle was used to. Not as Maribelle had _been._ Once again it made her suspicious. Was this natural in a group of people heading towards a common goal, or forced? Perhaps both, perhaps neither, perhaps it didn't really matter. But Maribelle liked to be in control, be it her breakfast or the guard roster of Themis, and she could not catalogue something she did not understand.

Twilight was setting in when they made camp for the night. Ricken had already left hours prior, on his path to Ylisstol with a letter from Chrom himself requesting a tutorship under Ylisse's court mage. There were many more letters, for family or friends or Castle Staff, to be distributed and the young Wizard had balked when Sir Frederick began handing them out. Sir Stahl and Prince Chrom had set about coaxing a fire to life and creating tents; while the Plegians had disappeared off into the woods, their shapes inky as they melted into the trees and the dying light of sunset. Maribelle had done the practical thing and helped Princess Lissa turn the horses out to graze, waiting (rather impatiently) for the perfect moment to spring her question.

"Lady Lissa…"Maribelle brushed the sweat flecking a grey geldings back. She'd been warned to stay clear of Prince Chrom's chestnut mare, but the dappled greys from her own stables were far more docile in temperament.

"Yep!" Lissa called, huffing and puffing as she pulled the saddle from one of the Chargers.

"This little…travelling band," Maribelle began, "How long have you known each other?"

"Well…"Lissa hummed, puffing her cheeks out as she thought, "Chrom's my big brother so I've known him my whole life, and Frederick's family have always served our family so I've known him forever too. Stahl…Stahl came to Ylisstol a couple of years ago, and Gregor and Robin have been here for weeks now. But it kinda feels like we've known them forever, I guess that happens on these kind of things, huh?"

She laughed while Maribelle pursued her lips, mulling Lissa's answer over.

"Why do you ask?" Lissa blinked innocently but it was a question that made Maribelle recoil.

"No reason," she replied sharply, "Mere curiosity, you people jape as if you've been doing so for years."

"Huh? Okay," Lissa shrugged it off with ease, _"Anyway_ you almost done? Gregor cooked whatever's in the pot tonight, and he's surprisingly good…if you like potatoes anyway, you like potatoes right?"

"They're manageable," Maribelle allowed.

"Great!" Lissa grinned, "See you there then! Hey, Stahl! You got the fire going yet or what?"

Maribelle watched the Princess dash off, a little (loud) ball of energy that once gone had Maribelle feeling strangely cold. The lazy hum of insects filled the space Lissa had left behind but it was not satisfactory, it wasn't enough. Maribelle scowled and shook her head to rid herself of such thoughts. She was being ridiculous.

"You needn't be so hard on yourself, my dear Lady."

Maribelle whirled, glaring down at the frog who watched her unapologetically, "You! Why do I find myself unsurprised by your lurking _yet again,_ Prince Virion?"

"Now, now, now," he sighed sadly, "You will wound me with such cruel words, Lady Maribelle. Oh, how such sweet poison spills from your lips!"

"Refrain from speaking of my lips, My _Lord,"_ Maribelle replied drily, "Sir Libra may be attending to my father in my absence, but that doesn't mean you won't suffer further encouragement to correct your words."

She tapped her parasol against her leg for further emphasis, raising a brow challengingly down at him as she did so.

The frog smirked, "One cannot help but wonder why such threats manage to entice me more."

Maribelle sighed with frustration, "You are incorrigible."

"And _you_ are exquisite, my thorny rose," Virion's smile grew before slipping from his face altogether, "Alas, there was something I wished to say."

"There's more?" Maribelle said archly, "I'm beside myself with anticipation."

"No doubt," Virion chuckled, "But what I _meant_ to say is this: do not worry."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You are nervous that the others will not like you-"

"I am no such thing!" Maribelle argued hotly but Virion continued regardless.

"-No, you are _certain_ they will not like you. A foolish notion, my Lady, you are simply magnificent. They would be fiends not to enjoy your company, barbed as it may be and all the more glorious for it."

Maribelle blinked, "Why…Lord Virion that sounded as if you were being somewhat honest."

"Fancy _that,"_ Virion replied with a bitterly amused smirk, "I have been nothing _but_ honest in my praises, my dear; such a valiant effort that has been cruelly overlooked."

"Yes, because distrusting flattery from _you_ was clearly a failing of mine," Maribelle rolled her eyes, "…Nevertheless, your words _do_ contain some small measure of comfort."

"I live to please," the frog bowed.

"Well…my thanks, Lord Virion," Maribelle allowed begrudgingly, a single tremor of hesitant vulnerability to her tone.

"Oh, my beauty, you needn't thank me for such poetry!" Virion gasped theatrically.

"I'd hardly call it 'poetry'-"Maribelle began but was interrupted as Virion rushed on.

"Although! Although….if the fair Lady Maribelle _did_ truly appreciate my humble efforts, perhaps a kis-"

"Finish that sentence, knave, and I'll not thwart the urge to finish _you!"_

Wisely Virion chose not to pursue his request any further (for the moment at least) and the pair settled back to arrange their clothing and observe the Ylissians. Where Lady Robin and her guard had disappeared to she did not know, but with the aid of rumours and the profuse apologies the Plegians had made after destroying a bedpost in their guest room Maribelle could make an educated guess. Ceaseless gossip was handy for _something_ then, she would never had thought that the nobles in Themis who sniffed out embarrassing scandals like a shark for blood would ever prove useful.

If they could accept someone from a doomed bloodline such as the Lady Robin, was it too much of a stretch to entertain the fancy that they may accept her?

Maribelle scowled at the thought again. She was not here to make friends, she was here to further her education and their opinion of her mattered very little in the end. Still…it did look warmer by the fire and Lady Lissa had asked _her_ personally.

The grass rustled softly beside her, interrupting Maribelle's inner debate. She glanced down to find Virion watching her, his cravat still stunning white despite the darkening sky and long grass.

"Well, my Lady, would you care to join me?" he tilted his head in the direction of the fire.

Maribelle _almost_ bit at her lip, before she remembered that she was a Lady and a Lady must be poised in all things.

"You go ahead Prince Virion," she said instead, "I will join you shortly."

"As you wish," he smirked and bowed then hopped away.

Maribelle remained there in the grass awhile, watching the little firelight and the Ylissians shadowed by the encroaching dusk. She'd give herself a moment (though she knew she'd never _really_ been the spirit of gentile patience, that at times she wished to embody) it wouldn't do to just rush over there like some common woman possessed. She had rules to follow. Certain expectations were exacted on her.

When Maribelle had judged the time sufficient she rose and marched over to the circle just as the Knight with the unkempt hair (Sir Stahl, was it?) had begun distributing bowls. Lissa was holding court in the same fashion Maribelle had witnessed her do so earlier, a lot of high-powered chatter and snorting laughter. Sir Frederick was making a gallant effort to follow the young Princess' speech but it was evident by the muted panic and determination in his eyes that he was failing to do just that.

"Then _I said 'Hey! Where do you think you're going with that?' and guess what?"_

"Ah…erm," Frederick began but Lissa had already bulldozed on.

"They couldn't even answer! Which was no surprise at all! Seriously you'd think they would have come up with a cover-story or _something,_ y'know? I mean I would of, if I thought I was going to get caught-which reminds me? Remember that guy? What's his name, the one who used to work in the stable? Well I found him doing the exact same thing and….and you're not even listening to me, right Frederick?" she pouted at him and the Knight's stricken expression only redoubled.

"I beg your forgiveness Lady Lissa," he bowed his head with shame, "I shall strengthen my effort to do so in the future."

"It's alright Frederick, don't sweat it…although," Lissa sighed, "this is why I miss Robin….hey Chrom!"

"Yes?" her older brother looked up from where he'd been studying a dog-eared map across his knees, eyebrows-knitted with thought and a light frown at the edges of his lips.

"How come Robin can't pitch her tent with the rest of us anyway? She could even share with me!" Lissa suggested excitedly.

"Er…well…."the prince fidgeted, eyes darting over the map while one hand rubbed at his shoulder.

Maribelle chose that moment to announce her presence, "It would be quite impossible for Lady Robin to join you, I'm afraid."

"It would?" Lissa blinked before beaming, "Oh and hey, Stahl's just finishing dishing up so you should have dinner in a sec, okay? _Or,"_ and she said this with a mischievous smile, "you could share mine if you tell me why Robin can't stay in my tent."

"Simply put it would-"Maribelle began but stopped, alarmed, when Chrom choked.

"Stahl! There's my dish! My thanks!" the Prince nearly launched himself at the bowl, "Gods, this smells good! Lissa you'd best finish it before it gets cold!"

Lissa and Maribelle exchanged a confused look, their gaze trailing over to where Chrom heartily gobbled at his meal and looked decidedly shifty. Maribelle's eyes narrowed perceptively. So Princess Lissa did not know of the curse affecting the Plegian royal bloodline, and the Prince who seemed to be aware of it wanted to keep his sister ignorant. But for what reason? How many of them did know? Princess Robin's guard to be sure, but judging by the suspicious looks exchanged between the Ylissian Knights they too were out the loop. Ruffling feathers may be Maribelle's infamous forte but she was too uninformed on the dynamics in this group and had no desire to tangle herself in further drama. Still it begged the question, why? Why keep these secrets? She'd never been a fan of duplicity and the adventuring party had seemed honest to the point of naiveté beforehand, and yet even they had their secrets.

"I see," Maribelle murmured, pursing her lips.

"So," Stahl sighed, flopping into the grass beside Frederick after handing Maribelle her bowl, "How goes the route-planning, Lord Chrom?"

He raked a hand through his hair, "As well as can be expected I suppose, though that isn't saying much. Through the woods is a shorter path…but the land is marked by bandits.

"Bandits?" Frederick frowned, "Then wouldn't the longer route be safer."

"It would," Chrom answered, "But that would mean the journey would take another two weeks."

"That's _ages,"_ Lissa groaned, "C'mon a bunch of stinky outlaws would be no match for us, right?"

"No, they wouldn't," Chrom nodded, "And we need to reach Valm as soon as possible. The Princess there has been kidnapped for too long and waiting around won't solve anything. What say you, Lady Maribelle?"

"Me?" she blinked.

"Yes, you," Chrom smiled playfully, "You know this country better than anyone and you're part of the group now, whether you like it or not."

"Well," Maribelle picked at her sleeves, suddenly unsure of what to do with her face, "I'd say that it sounds like you've already made your decision, Lord Chrom. If time is of the essence then we have no other choice."

"Alright, the woods it is then," Chrom smiled and nodded, "Stahl?"

"Yeah?" he looked up from his now almost empty bowl.

"Do you think you could scout for us? You're faster on horseback and I'm sure Frederick would protest if we asked him to leave Lissa unattended," Chrom smirked at the Great Knight's resolute expression while Lissa grumbled about not being harmless.

"Can do!" Stahl grinned, "Just count on me."

"My thanks," Chrom answered earnestly, "Now Lady Maribelle, if it isn't much trouble I'd like to hear about Themis? I must admit I've never travelled this far from Ylissian soil before."

So she told them and truthfully she could not remember all she said, only that once she had begun speaking of her home she found she could not stop. Then they spoke of theirs and then they compared the two and what they'd seen or heard from Lady Robin about Plegia. Virion remained silent and wistful throughout, for his home or the company Maribelle was not sure. It was late by the time they had done, each wishing each other a goodnight before disappearing into their tents, but Maribelle stayed staring into the dying embers. It was the most pleasant conversation she'd had with anyone who was not her father or her mother.

And in all honesty, Maribelle was not sure how she felt about that.

...

Libra marched with purpose through the opulent hallways of the Palace. He inclined his head and smiled to those servants or noble lords and ladies that deigned to do so but he did not break pace, not once.

It still managed to amaze him how much changed with time, but what stunned him more was how much did not.

Despite Princess Maribelle's efforts the same games were being played, the same theatrics that had made him quietly bitter before but now merely with different players. He cared as little for it as he had back then, sympathy could be given to those reformers who had been burnt badly enough to slip out of those social circles like one would slip out of a cloak. But the others Libra attempted to keep clear of, least they stir up any of the resentment that had fuelled the man Libra had been and was now (with the Gods' grace) just a memory.

"I'm so sorry, I just…I should have defeated her!"

Ricken was still mumbling as he tried to keep pace, Libra had already shortened his stride thrice but the boy had scowled with wounded pride. The boy had a brave heart, but it ran away with him at times before his head could match. An injustice really considering the boy's intellect, but one Libra had no doubt that time would temper. He knew what it was to be considered small and helpless, he had been such as a child; he could only pray that Ricken did not make the same mistakes he had when he'd eventually grown into his strength.

"Hush Ricken," Libra breathed softly, "You did no harm."

"No, I didn't but I didn't do any _good_ either!" Ricken bit off frustrated, "It was embarrassing, and lot of people could have been hurt if you hadn't been there."

"No one's judging you," Libra reminded him gently.

_"You're_ not judging me, _you_ don't judge anyone…but everyone else, they thought I was a joke I could tell," Ricken finished dejectedly.

Libra could sense that there was nothing he more to say at this point, but merely offer quiet company. Instead his mind wandered back to their prisoner and the events that had led to her capture. It had been flurry of activity since he'd awoke, the Ylissians and their Plegian companions, the trials, the departure of Princess Maribelle and his own reinstatement as Captain of the Royal Guard. Libra had taken it all with his characteristic peaceful acceptance. The young mage Ricken had accepted the offer to train under the mage in the Ylissian Court, and had left with Maribelle to travel with them until their paths no longer coincided. Libra had not expected to see him again until the boy was grown and requesting for the position of Court Mage here in Themis. He definitely had not expected to see him so soon, and _most_ definitely not in the manner he had.

Libra could recall with clarity the way Ricken had fled into the ballroom the night before, clutching a singed and tattered cloak to himself and calling out for Libra in a voice thin with fear. Libra had responded instantly by trying to calm the boy down enough to understand what it was exactly that he was running from. _Whom_ he was running form had been a more accurate term as not moments later the ballroom was a mess of screeching voices and wild magic all triggered by the appearance of a Plegian sorceress.

The same sorceress he was about to visit now, kept safely away from defenceless pedestrians in the Palace dungeons. Dungeons that Libra himself had haunted once, but that was a long time ago and he was a…his circumstances had changed. He hadn't had the opportunity to question her, too busy dealing with the fallout her disastrous entrance had caused, but it could not be a coincidence that a day after Princess Maribelle had left with the Ylissians and two _Plegians_ that a _Plegian_ sorceress appeared. He pulled a torch from the wall, pausing at the head of the stairs to regard Ricken gently.

""Are you alright?" Libra asked, "If you don't wish to join me then that's completely understandable."

The offer was clearly tempting but after a moment's hesitation Ricken shook himself and nodded.

"No…no, I want to go," he replied with grim determination.

"Very well," Libra smiled.

The pair descended down into the dungeons, candlelight flickering off small pools of water and the metal bars. The place reeked of that sickly-sweet scent of damp and every corner was wreathed in shadows, the dark pressing in around them as if it were a physical creature. The sorceress was in the far cell, curled up in a corner and glancing about herself with clear disdain. Her face was sharp, high cheekbones and slanted eyes, her hair a waterfall of black neatly maintained. Her clothes were revealing, enough so to make Ricken cough uncomfortably, flecked here and there by gold thread. She was beautiful yes, but something in her dark eyes told Libra that the woman before them was dangerous. Poisoned fruit, he thought, tempting but not without its repercussions.

"Good afternoon, I-"

"Where's Robin?" the woman interrupted.

Libra paused, she studied him through narrowed eyes.

"Robin?" Libra frowned mildly, "You mean Princess Robin?"

""Of course," the woman scoffed, "Who else would I mean?"

"You're pursing the Princess," he hummed, "For what reason?"

The woman grumbled to herself for a moment, watching them both warily, "So you _have_ seen her? Of course you have, you couldn't look upon Robin and not remember. You best pray that you haven't touched her, if you have I'll hex you into oblivion!"

Libra's eyebrows knitted and he asked the only question he thought appropriate at that point, "Are….you alright?"

"Yes," she scoffed again, "why do you care? Are you perhaps frightened?"

"No," Libra answered honestly, "But you have been in this cell for many hours and I know how that can take a toll on someone's mind."

"Are you suggesting that I sound insane?" the woman smirked, "Although to someone like you understanding would be too much to ask."

Libra sighed, "Can we at least have your name and why you're here?"

She bristled at that, "Tharja. And why do you think I'm here? I'm looking for Robin."

""Tharja," Libra smiled glad that he'd gotten that out the way at least, "I'm Libra and this young wizard is Ricken."

"I'm not _that_ young," Ricken muttered.

"Well whoop-de-doo," Tharja grimaced, "If I'd wanted your names I would have asked for them. You _still_ haven't answered my question. Where. Is. Robin?"

""Lady Robin departed this morning," Libra replied patiently in the face of her venomous tones.

"So you haven't been keeping her captive," Tharja muttered, "Interesting. I'll have to leave immediately before the trail turns cold, she couldn't have gone far since she'll need somewhere to camp tonight….heh heh heh."

"You're really creepy has anyone told you that?" Ricken breathed.

"Ricken," Libra admonished gently.

Tharja didn't seem to be upset by the boy's comment though, in fact she seemed to take a twisted sense of pride in it.

"Some just don't understand the darkness," she smirked, "but that's not important…not now. I need to go, release me."

"To find Lady Robin?" Libra asked, at Tharja's impatient 'yes' Libra's frowned contemplatively, "Forgive My Lady but I don't think that would _be…wise_ of me."

"Why not?" Tharja's eyes sharpened and her lips pulled back from her teeth in a decidedly animalistic display of hostility.

"Because you attacked a room full of people three hours ago," Libra replied flatly, "How do I know you won't behave the same way towards Lady Robin and Princess Maribelle?"

"I would never harm Robin! _Well_ not without proper reason anyway. As for the fools with her, what do I care about them," she shrugged.

"As you say," Libra allowed, "but I only have your word for it and I'm sorry but that's not enough, not without some guarantee."

Tharja and Libra fell into silence, just staring at one another while neither was willing to back down. Ricken shifted uncomfortably feeling the air in the room growing heavier, crackling with subtle tension. Libra wanted to give the Plegian the benefit of doubt but with Lady Maribelle's safety on the line that was not a gamble he was willing to take. He looked at Tharja and he saw some reflection of himself, of a person who was willing to take a course of action that someone else may have written off as impossible. She'd stormed a castle for her friend (if that _was_ their relationship) with no uncertainty in regards to both her success and personal safety. She'd been dismissive of their presence, disdainful even, and he could not in good conscience loose someone like her on Lady Maribelle. It would be irresponsible of him, ungrateful to everything Princess Maribelle had done and that was something Libra never wished to be. He sighed, clenching and unclenching his fingers. He couldn't just keep Tharja prisoner but in the same vein he couldn't just release her either.

""At least tell me why you're trying to find Lady Robin," he asked sincerely.

"And _then_ will you let me go?" she scowled.

"I…"he paused, "Explain to me and then I'll let you go, you have my word."

She smirked then again, looking him up and down as if reassessing her earlier impression. Libra almost flushed at her intense scrutiny. He'd never been comfortable being the subject of someone's undivided attention, truthfully it didn't happen enough for him _to_ be comfortable with it. It'd always been his role when people saw him and the man second, if they even cared to look past the role in the first place. But Tharja's dark eyes were almost unnervingly penetrating, hooking past his skin and staring into parts of Libra that he most definitely did not want her to. He wondered what it was she was looking for and knew in his gut that it was the parts of himself that he'd prayed had been put to rest.

'I'm not that person,' Libra mentally reminded himself, some vague sense of shame forcing him to drop his gaze to his hands, 'not anymore.'

"Very well," Tharja purred, "Robin's cousin, the 'crown prince'," she said the title with mocking scorn, "has been missing for the past fortnight. Whatever, he's probably already dead…but for _some_ reason Robin's always been fond of the fool."

"So…you need her to help you find the Prince of Plegia?"

"Saving Henry's worthless hide? Oh, joy that's _exactly_ what I've always wanted to waste my time on," Tharja replied drily, "No _I'd_ rather just let the boy die, _Robin_ unfortunately happens to be stupidly sentimental."

"I see," Libra frowned, "Do you know where he could have gone?"

"Don't know, don't care," Tharja shrugged, "I've told you now so release me."

He had given his word, and he had no intentions of going back on it. Doubly so if Tharja was part of a rescue team for Plegian royalty. Keeping her detained would only cause friction between Themis and Plegia, friction that they did not need and besides that the disappearance of her cousin was something Lady Robin would have to be informed of as soon as possible.

But that didn't mean Libra trusted Tharja.

He'd let her go, let her reunite with Lady Robin and let her relay her message but he was most definitely not going to let her do it unsupervised. If he was brutally honest with himself Libra could also admit there was also some selfish reasoning behind his decision. It hadn't even been a full day in Themis without Princess Maribelle and already he was tired of the simpering nobles and the way their eyes slid over him tellingly. With Lady Maribelle here when Libra was actually _doing_ something to justify his presence, it was bearable but playing Captain of the Guard for just the King and his legions of flatterers made Libra's skin itch.

"Very well," Libra unlocked the door and carefully held it open as Tharja scuttled out.

She shot him a nasty look, eyes darting down the corridor and resting on the stairway before prowling towards it. Libra followed behind, smiling at her gently when she turned to glare at him.

"…What're you doing?" Tharja asked suspiciously.

"Following you," Libra replied.

Her scowl deepened as she asked, "Why?"

"You didn't think I'd let you go alone, did you?" Libra continued to smile, unaffected by her toxic glare.

""…You're not serious are you?" her eyes widened.

"Completely," Libra nodded.

Tharja only continued to stare at him stunned for a moment before her face twisted into another snarl. She cursed under breath, the ferocity and raspy tone of her voice making Ricken flinch slightly. Libra felt his lips twitch. It was wrong of him but seeing the dark-eyed sorceress so disgruntled brought about a strange sense of satisfaction; if only because he felt that whatever he did and whatever he said would slide off her back like water. It was not something he should indulge in, he knew that, and the apology was on the very tip of his tongue when Tharja (as if sensing that it was coming) waved him off impatiently.

""Fine," she snapped, "Just get on with it…and don't bother me."

"As you wish," Libra replied graciously.

A sense of prophetic dread coated him at those words. This journey would not be easy, he could only pray that they found Lady Maribelle and Robin while they were both in one piece.

**A/N:**

No Mark and Morgan in this chapter since, quite honestly, I didn't have an interesting enough scene for them in my head and I didn't want to force it then be dissatisfied with the results. But they will be in next chapter. Tharja rocks up now, off to rescue a Princess that is rescuing Princesses, and what I've gathered of Tharja from speaking to others is that she's kind of like the Marmite of the Fire Emblem universe (you either love her or you hate her.

Reviewer Replies:

Sparks101: Thanks for the review! And I'm pleased you found the challenge interesting :) As for the one-shot, it was mostly an excercise in torturing poor Freddy-Bear :p

The Shadows Rider: Thanks for the review! As for the clockwork soldiers, I've been trying to give each of the kingdoms it's own feel so for example Ylisse is more classic English Medieval, Plegia was more Norse with its long boats and snowy landscape and Themis was meant to be more steampunk; hopefully that came off when reading it XD

A Shadow's Lament: Thanks for the review! Tactics have never been my thing, I'll admit I tend to just follow the method of throwing my units at the enemy until they're defeated so I had to actually sit there (for an embarrassingly long time) and think something up for Robin XD /strongstrong Thank you for the reassurance as well, this is my first fic so when I didn't find writing last chapter as easy as I had found writing the ones before it I was a little spooked; it was comforting to know that that was a perfectly normal reaction :)

Zarelyn: Thanks for the review! YES! I may have converted someone to Stahl/Lissa instead of the more common Lissa/Lon'qu! About 40% of my fondness for a pairing in Fire Emblem comes from their epilogue at the end (which is why the Robin epilogues irritate me because they all seem so impersonal) and I will lose faith in a pairing if it sounds like they have an unhappy marriage after the game, but Stahl and Lissa's epilogue is adorable :3

Big thank you to everyone who read, favourited and followed this also, your support is greatly appreciated!

**I'm so sorry about the earlier formatting, thank you to everyone who gave me a heads up! I was out last night so I didn't realise anything had gone wrong till this morning so further apologies for the late arrival of the corrected chapter. Honestly I'm not sure why FF keeps doing this, I quite literally copy and paste my chapter in and about 80% of the time it comes out fine :/**


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